The Patient X
by Seraphin1977
Summary: Hermione announced herself as a helper in St-Mungos to help the victims of the war. She has to take care for only one Patient. Someone, who waits for his execution. Lord Voldemort.Hermione tries to make him feel remorseful.
1. Prologe

**Patient X**

**Summary:** _Hermione volunteers as a helper in St. Mungo's to treat the victims of the war. She has to take care of only one Patient. Someone, who waits for his execution. Lord Voldemort. Hermione tries, sometimes more, sometimes less successfully, to make him feel remorseful. She is torn between the cold-hearted dark lord, her friends and Voldemort's vengeful victims._

**Warnings: **_violence, torture, hurt, addiction_

**Genre:** _Drama_

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_****__Here I stand_. I can do no other

_(Martin Luther)_

**Chapter 1: Prologue**

It's been several weeks since the great Battle of Hogwarts.

Hermione and Ron came back from Australia where, happy and relieved, she had restored her parents' memories about their daughter.

However, Mr. and Mrs. Granger weren't sure if they really wanted to come back to England. They had started a private practice in Melbourne and they've come to know and value the country, the people and their new life there.

Since Hermione told them that she was going to Hogwarts for another year to complete her education, life in Melbourne seemed like a good choice for them.

'We can still visit each other' they stated with a proud wink to Hermione. Such a gifted young witch was surely able to "apparave" – or whatever it may have been called- wherever she wished in a heartbeat.

Hermione knew that it wasn't that easy to get from Hogwarts to Melbourne by magic, but she was overjoyed to see her parents happy, and so she decided she could put up with minor travel difficulties during her future visits.

Their return to England was less cheerful. The horror of the past war and the grief for those who had been lost overwhelmed them in a single blow.

Ron was increasingly sullen and distant. With each day they spent at the Burrow, the almost palpable absence of Fred and other victims made him more and more miserable. The same was happening to her…

She had to do something. First of all, she needed a distraction to clear her mind. Secondly, this distraction could be beneficial because it would expose her to new, interesting experiences and provide her with an insight into the daily work of healers, a career she'd been considering for some time. She decided to volunteer as a helper at the nightmarishly overcrowded St. Mungo´s.

The hospital had had to triple its number of beds because of the staggering amount of patients. Most of them were victims of Voldemort's reign of terror. Unfortunately, the number of healers and nurses hadn't increased.

As a result, each issue of the The Daily Prophet contained an appeal to the wizarding community – whoever could, should volunteer to help at the hospital for at least a week or longer. Hermione wanted to help.

Together with Ron and Harry, she travelled to London to rent a cheap, one-room Muggle apartment.

For the first couple of days, she would stay at the Leaky Cauldron, but since it would probably be too expensive in the long run, she would move as soon as she found a proper apartment.

School would begin no sooner than in three or four months. Too much had happened for things to go on as before. Many parts of the castle had to be completely rebuilt, new magical protection walls had to be created and new teachers had to be found.. because many of the old ones were dead or unable to work for an unknown period of time.

Everyone had to recover from the cruel hand of fate, deal with their own pain and losses. But Hermione didn't want to sit around and do nothing but wait for better days. Too many pictures tortured her every night before she fell asleep, too much fear still haunted her. Maybe she could get rid of it if she was too tired to think of all the dead faces she saw every time she closed her eyes.

Although Hermione liked Ron's family very much, the Burrow wasn't her home. With all the Weasleys and Harry, who now also lived there, the house was much too crowded and cramped.

After they made arrangements concerning Hermione's residence at The Leaky Cauldron with Tom the landlord, they went to Diagon Alley to buy all the things Hermione would need for her new home. But the trip was not as pleasant as they had expected.

Too many stores were closed. Even Ollivander, who was more or less healthy and at least free again, wanted to wait a while and rest from all the horror he had had to suffer.

Harry was very pensive. Again and again he would touch his scar and stare around without noticing anything at all, but all the while he seemed to be brooding over something.

The evening before the first day of her new job - Mrs. Weasley had invited them to dinner - Hermione managed to lure Harry away from Ginny into the garden outside and approach him for a conversation.

'Harry, why do you keep touching your scar all the time? What's on your mind?' Hermione asked in her familiar, worried, motherly tone.

Harry shrugged helplessly. 'I don't know. I feel so strange since he is gone. You know, all those years we had to hunt him and now… now we've made it. We are safe, aren't we? But what's next? What else shall we be, other than Voldemort's enemies?"

He took a sip of his butterbeer and his gaze shifted to a patch of the garden where four gnomes were trying to crawl into a very tight gnomehole simultaneously. It wouldn't have been a problem if they'd tried to do it one after another, not side by side.

'You know, every time I open my eyes and look around, all I can see are the things he's destroyed. Not just for me, for all of us… So, how can our lives go on? Everything seems to be distorted. I don't know, it feels like we're all damaged inside. Living zombies who haven't realized that they're already dead. And then I think of Snape.. I just don't know.'

Ron nodded as he sat down on the bench next to his friends with a butterbeer in his hand. 'Yeah, it's weird, isn't it? Who could have ever suspected what he had gone through?' The red-haired boy scratched at the label of his bottle absent-mindedly, immersed in thought. 'In a way, he was always a git. But he was also a hero…'

Harry nodded in agreement. 'I wish he had lived just a little bit longer, so that I could have thanked him. Maybe it would have made me feel less guilty about always making fun of him.. About thinking he was so stupid..'

Hermione took his hand. 'But that's the way he wanted it. ' Ron and Harry nodded sadly.

Harry's hand touched his scar again. 'I don't know, actually the scar shouldn't hurt any more, should it? But every time I think of Voldemort, my hand slips to my forehead and I feel it prickling.

'Phantom pain', Hermione decided. 'You're just imagining it. You're so used to it that it will take a while until you can drop this habit."

Harry got up, staggered a moment and started walking around in the garden. 'It's crazy. How can a single man cause so much pain? And when I think of that odd, flayed thing I saw when I was unconscious.. was it him? Is that what's become of him?' The young man turned around to his friends and took a gulp of his butterbeer. 'And he never regretted anything. That's why he became this pathetic splinter of a soul. He became a nothing. Not once.. He never had the slightest doubt that what he was doing was wrong. Such evil... And he never had a single positive thought towards other people. How can a human being become something so vile? I mean…look at me. I had a bad childhood as well, but did I become a homicidal freak?"

Ron leaned back and scratched his belly. 'Well, there's no use to dwell on it… He is dead and if he's burning in hell this very moment, then… Damn, I don't care. He got what he deserves, man.'

All of the three friends nodded. Yes, Voldemort deserved every punishment imaginable .


	2. Patient X

_**Beta: Dark Empress V hug**_

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**Chapter Two: Patient X**

Hermione's first shift began at six o'clock the next morning. She and twenty other volunteers who started this Monday assembled in the entrance hall of St. Mungo´s Hospital, where they were welcomed by head nurse Claris.

Nurse Claris was an unkempt, 50 year old witch. She had been in charge of the nurses for a long time and everything had to be done effectively and according to her strict rules.

No matter how much stress the personnel was under and how many patients they had to take care of… The best possible help had to be given to every single patient, she said to the listeners. However, these days, this was a poor care. That is why voluntary helpers were needed so badly. Because every patient in the hospital was entitled to human dignity and adequate care.

All of them nodded proudly. Yes, they would help Voldemort's victims and they would make sure that every patient regained his or her dignity.

Then they were given a tour of the hospital. Hermione was appalled by the conditions. There were nowhere near enough nurses or healers… or cleaning staff. An offensive smell of blood, urine, dried sanies and vomit pervaded the air, so she could barley breathe. Everywhere she looked, she saw people standing around with perplexed expressions on their faces, wondering who they were and what they had done under the Imperius curse.

The sickrooms had been magically enlarged, so they could fit up to 12 people. But this meant that none of the twelve patients in each of the rooms could enjoy even a wink of sleep or a shred of peace and privacy. And among all the groans, screams and the smell bustled the white-clad nurses, who seemed to be able to do nothing more than give increasing amounts of drugs to the suffering patients.

It took Hermione exactly two hours to get on nurse Claris' bad side. Claris had been doing this job the same way for more than 30 years, but Hermione always had some suggestions on how the work could be even more effective and what Claris could do better.

The tall gray bun on Claris' head made her look like an older Marge Simpson. With each new suggestion, she became more and more reserved.

About eight o'clock in the morning, Claris blew a fuse. She yelled at Hermione as if she were a sergeant in the military… that was probably exactly the way Claris saw this position.

Since Hermione claimed to know everything, there was no need for Claris to teach her anything. Hermione would receive a special task. She (Claris) was not in the mood to bear the criticism of an 18-year-old brat. Therefore, Hermione was to go to the cellar to get further instructions.

Hermione was angry but proud of her courage to stand up to this old, stubborn dictator of a nurse and marched straight to the basement level.

Although the clash with Claris had happened just five minutes ago, Hermione was already awaited by another nurse.

"How do you do? I'm Nurse Helen. You must be Miss Granger?" said a tall witch with short blonde hair, who looked like she was in her forties. Nurse Helen appeared to be friendlier than Claris, but she was also very serious.

The young woman nodded. "Yes. I'm here because… Nurse Claris thought I should help you."

Helen's lips curled into a sneering smile. "Oh, of course… Nurse Claris. You were fast, young lady. Most new people here don't manage to make her this angry in such a short time." She smirked "Never mind. Yes, we really have work for you. Follow me, please."

Helen walked rapidly through a long, dark corridor. Hermione followed her until they stopped in front of a big stone door which reminded Hermione of a dungeon-entrance. The older woman pulled out her wand, showed her the necessary hand movements, told her the appropriate spell and opened the door. "You will have to hand in your wand at head nurse Claris' office. You have to use a special hospital wand during your working time. This is the maximum-security wing of the hospital. Usually we don't keep patients here. However, under these circumstances, we have to. This place is reserved for people who must be isolated from the rest of the sick."

An icy shiver ran down Hermione's back. "A quarantine ward? Are the people here contagious?" she asked, frightened. Did Claris send her here to take care of terminally ill patients, hoping Hermione would contract a disease? But Helen shook her head, which calmed Hermione down a bit. "No, no... It's something else…well, the nurses on the upper floors don't want to agitate their patients. We cannot let him stay upstairs with the others. It would cause to much agitation and anxiety. This way please" Helen guided her through a slightly less dark corridor illuminated by candles burning in sconces on the walls. Much to her surprise, Hermione noticed that two Aurors were stationed outside one of the doors, obviously guarding it. Helen and Hermione approached them.

The Aurors nodded to Helen, and Hermione thought she detected apprehension in their expressions.

"How many patients are down here?" Hermione wanted to know. The corridor appeared to be deserted. Here was no one there but Hermione, Helen and the two Aurors by the door. The hustle and bustle of the upper floors was all but a distant memory.

"Only one, actually" replied Helen, paused a moment and pointed to the door with the Aurors in front. "I told you, it's only one person, but we have to keep him away from everything and everyone else. To ensure their safety and because all the nurses refused to be near him. Even the healers are making up excuses because they don't want to look after him too often. Which means…almost never." Helen gave her a cheerless smile. "You've made Claris pretty furious. Unfortunately because of this, you will now have to do something nobody else in this hospital wants to do and it won't be easy."

Hermione still did not understand. "Why are the Aurors guarding the patient? Is he dangerous or is he IN danger?

Helen shrugged. „In a way, both. " A suspicion came to the young Gryffindor's mind. "Is he a Death-Eater? Is that why the other war victims don't want to be near him?" Helen seemed to think about this for a moment, and then she nodded shortly. "You could say so. Come on. I will tell you about your job now, Miss Granger." Helen directed Hermione into what was obviously a stockroom. Hundreds of blankets, mattresses, detergents and cleaning supplies were stacked neatly in big lockers. Picking out some items for Hermione, Helen started to explain, always anxious not to look at the other girl's face. "Well, he's been here since the battle of Hogwarts. At first they thought he was dead, but after the healers examined him, it turned out they'd been mistaken. He was in a coma, of course, critically ill. So they brought him to St. Mungo´s because… well, the Ministry doesn't want the wizarding community to know that he is still alive."

Hermione was astonished by what she had heard. Who could it be? Judging from the way Helen's voice trembled when she spoke about him, he had to be a very high ranking Death-Eater. "Of course, they also considered bringing him to Azkaban, but since the Dementor rebellion and all the explosions, the security arrangements don't seem to be enough to hold him."

Hermione was definitely alarmed now. Surely, Azkaban had suffered some damages, but could it be possible that such a heavily guarded prison was not secure enough for this patient? Who was he? Rodolphus Lestrange, Yaxley, Nott…in her mind, she went over all the Death-Eater names she was able to connect with a face.

"He was in a coma for four weeks, but woke up a few days ago. Even before that, nobody wanted to be close to him, but now less than ever. The personnel fears him." Helen's tone sounded casual, but Hermione was shocked to discover traces of fear in her voice. "Is he dangerous? Does he attack the staff?" enquired the young witch. Helen shook her head pensively. "No, he does not do anything at all. But the point is not what he does now, it's what he did in his past. Naturally, we took his wand away. But who knows what he is able to do without it? He is very weak and we put some spells on him which caused almost complete paralysis. He can only move his head. And he doesn't speak, even though he can." Helen put some fresh bedcovers on the trolley and moved on to another rack; there she collected washclothes, towels and personal care products. "The aim is not to heal him. We only have to keep him alive until he has been interrogated. The Wizengamot will execute him after his trial."

Hermione winced. Until now, she had thought that the Dementor's Kiss was the most severe penalty in wizarding Britain. The ultimate punishment for the worst criminals.

The blond witch rummaged in another rack for potions and ointments. "You have to stay with him for about two hours a day, six days a week, but not on Sundays. This is going to be awful. He stinks. Well, you have to know…we swaddle him, because he cannot move... And because no one wants to be close to him, he wears the same diaper all day. This is rather unpleasant to us. You're allowed to use magic to protect your nose."

Hermione was outraged and wanted to say something. One diaper a day sounded definitely ignoble, even for this patient, but Helen did not give her time to comment. "Except for those two hours, nobody else will be in this room with him. We tried to put him on a drip, but somehow he always managed it to dispose of the needles, so you'll have to feed him. You're allowed to use the Imperius and the Cruciatus curses. You are also allowed to use other punishments if they seem appropriate. The point is only to keep him alive for the next few months. Make sure that he does not commit suicide. He shall be condemned before he dies. That is important to the Ministry. He shall not kill himself before he is tried. Furthermore, he knows a lot of things that are of interest to the Ministry. Unfortunately, he hasn't spoken at all so far. If he does, you'll have to note everything down. Even if he talks in his sleep."

Helen had completed her work. She pushed the trolley slowly towards the Aurors while she finished her speech. "You'll have to lock the doors magically every time you enter or leave the room. The Aurors will always be outside the door. If something dangerous happens, or if you feel threatened, just send a signal with your wand and they'll come in and help you… or rescue you. Whatever happens, don't be afraid. They won´t leave you alone, but normally you're the only one in this room to take care of him.

Each day you have to put him out of bed and sit him on a chair to exercise him. When the trial starts, he will have to at least be able to sit without falling. Make him able to participate in the trial, that's our aim." Helen rolled her eyes. "But it's nonsense, if you ask me. He does not talk to anybody. However, those are the instructions. So, sit him on the chair, put clean sheets on the bed, wash him, swaddle him, and if you see any bedsores, rub them with this salve." Helen showed her a small brown pot. "Actually, we don´t move him enough, but the salve is high potent. You only have to apply it once a day. Aside from that, try to feed him. There's no need to fatten him up, he just must not starve. Don't look into his eyes. Don't talk to him. Write a report each day. We must know if we have to increase security. Right now, it seems that he is not able to move. It's safe to touch him, but I'm afraid you will be revolted. If you suspect that he can move his body, tell us, and we will put more powerful spells on him. Did you get everything?"

Helen pushed the trolley over to the young volunteer, smiled at her and stopped beside the door. After all that she had heard, Hermione felt rather queasy. It couldn't have been worse to have to take care of a tyrannosaurus rex, but she nodded faintly. It was time to call on the famous Gryffindor courage.

The blond nurse squeezed Hermoine's hand. "I have to go upstairs now. You can always find me in the spell-damage-ward, if you have more questions. Oh, there is one more thing. This patient has no name in this hospital. We just call him Patient X. It's clear that you're not allowed to tell anyone about him." Helen admonished severely. "No one must know his identity." Hermione nodded again.

A nameless menace lurked behind this door. Hermione's worst fears flashed through her mind… Then she turned to the entrance, hearing Helen's steps fade away down the corridor.

"We're going to open the door now. Send the signal when you're finished, okay?" said the Auror on the right. She nodded faintly. The door opened with a dreadful squeak and Hermione entered the sickroom, which reminded her strongly of a dungeon cell. She ignited the candles on the walls with her wand and walked further inside.

The patient lay in the opposite end of the room, concealed by a white curtain placed around the bed. Hermione approached slowly, and although she was forbidden to talk to this person, she called out a greeting. Maybe she did it to reassure him… or herself.

"Hello, how are you? I'm Hermione Granger. I'm going to take care of you from now on." She really attempted to make her voice sound friendly, but her anxiety cut through the facade. Slowly, she pulled aside the white curtain that separated the area around the bed from the rest of the room.

A scream of horror echoed off the stone walls. Hermione staggered back several steps and tripped over the trolley which nurse Helen had left. Her hands convulsively grabbed some towels which had tumbled to the floor. Pressing them tightly to her chest like a shield, she inched towards the bed. She gasped loudly and was no longer sure if the figure lying there, staring motionless and numb out of the cellar window was a hallucination conjured up by sudden insanity or the man she supposed him to be.

Lord Voldemort.


	3. Alone with him

**_Beta: Dark Empress V –kiss-_**

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**WE SHALL OVERCOME**

**Chapter 3: Alone with him**

Hermione pressed herself to the wall in the furthest end of the room and slid slowly to the ground, her eyes still staring at the patient.

The last time she had seen Voldemort in person was during the battle of Hogwarts.

She recognised the snow-white, hairless skin, the burning red eyes and the flat face with snake-like nostrils. There he lay - pale, even thinner than before, with lacerations on his face and body.

Hermione noticed with a wave of sudden nausea that he was undoubtedly naked, except for a diaper. A thin blanket covered his body up to just under his chest. It was very cold inside the room. Obviously, the employees did not care about keeping the place warm.

Lord Voldemort, or rather the former Lord Voldemort, must have certainly recognized her name.. He must have realized who has been sent to him. Hermione didn't really know if this was meant to be a punishment for her or for both of them.

If he had noticed her, he did not show it. He was still motionless, lying on his back covered only with a blanket, his arms resting by his sides. The hospital bed lifted the upper part of his body slightly. His eyes were staring numbly through the window. Nothing indicated that he had registered her presence.

Hermione stood up again. What should she do? She wanted to take a few steps forward to put the trolley right again, but her legs had different ideas. Here she was, standing with her back practically glued to the wall and unable to go any further.

Helen had said that nobody would voluntarily enter this room because they were too afraid and revolted after just one look at him. No one would have any contact with him except for her. Perhaps she did not have to do anything. She would just sit down again, wait out the two hours and leave the room. Nobody would know if she had done anything or not. That thought cheered her up for exactly ten minutes, and not a second longer...

She had to do something. She did not want to look at this hated face. Nevertheless, she also could not risk turning her back to him or looking away from him. The memory of his cold, clear voice invaded her mind over and over again.

In the past few years, she had learned to hate and fear this man. Even Dumbledore hadn't been able to see an ounce of humanity in him.

But she really had to do something. She wouldn't be able to bear it if all she did for the next four months was just stand around and avoid looking at his face. Why couldn't she just give up? She didn't want to let Claris triumph, but under these circumstances... Who wouldn't understand her?

Actually, none of her friends would understand, because she wasn't allowed to tell them who she had to take care of. Everybody would think that the oh-so-smart, know-it-all Hermione could only read books, but was no good when it came to practice. Intelligent, but naive and inexperienced. Actually one of the reasons she had volunteered was to prove to these people (secretly, she also included Ron and Harry in this group) that she was able to do more than just memorise stuff and perform spells in safe classroom conditions.

She took a few steps forward again, always careful not to take her eyes off of the patient. Her trembling hand was still pointing her wand at him as she kneeled down to gather up the things that had landed on the floor, and put them back on the trolley.

There was still no reaction from him. Was it true that they had put paralyzing spells on him? But who could know how much power still remained in the paralysed Voldemort? Mute and without a wand, he was probably still stronger than all the Hogwarts pupils put together, herself included. She swallowed. But he didn't even stir. Were there some different, special spells that they had put on him? There must be... He was unable to move. He could probably speak, maybe move his head, too... Apparently, he wasn't able to do more. But he didn't seem to even try... He just lay there and stared at some indefinable thing far beyond the barred window.

Hermione's whole body felt like one stiff knot. She straightened herself very slowly, the wand in her trembling hand still directed at him. Slowly, she tiptoed closer. It seemed as though he were a snake, lying there calm and motionless, but able to lash out any second and kill her with its venom. A fitting comparison...

Hermione, the predator tamer was now standing at the foot end of the bed. What should she do first? There was a chair next to his bed. If she was to make the bed, he would have to sit there. She could make up the bed by magic. But she couldn't make him float all over the room while he was being magically washed by sponges. That she would have to do herself. Her breathing accelerated. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead. She could see him so clearly now. Yes, without a doubt, this was Voldemort. Lord Voldemort, who still just lay there and seemed unaware of everything and everyone around him.

A few days earlier, she had done a crash course on nursing. They had shown her how to wash men and women, how to detect fever, how to change the sheets and apply unguents. But she didn't feel very confident... She would have liked to ask somebody. UPSTAIRS. Where she wanted to be. Upstairs, together with Helen, who would show her around, demonstrate and explain everything again. Not down here with this man, who was hated more than anyone else on the planet.

She would make up the bed first. Washing and feeding him, that's what she was most afraid of... It must wait a little longer. "I.. I will pull you out of bed now" she said in a high, trembling voice. "I will sit you on the chair and then make up your bed, allright?" No reaction.

She knew she shouldn't talk to him. But to touch him without warning seemed dangerous. And when she said what she was going to do out loud, then she had to do it. She couldn't chicken out anymore. Still pressed firmly to the wall, she slid slowly towards the bed. Wand at the ready, she shielded herself behind a chair that stood level with the upper part of his body. and walked up to his side. Would she be able to lift him up and sit him on the chair? He was quite tall. She could probably drag him behind her, but she certainly wouldn't be able to lift him up.

Now she stood directly in front of her patient, looking down on him. He was so thin. He had always looked thin, every time she had seen him. Always swathed in his large, black cloak. But now he seemed to be even thinner. Like a skeleton.

She asked herself how many times he hadn't been given anything to eat or drink because everyone was too afraid to go near him. She could see almost every bone through the pale, hairless skin of his chest. The only thing that seemed to matter to them was to keep him just barely alive. He should be able to live just a few days longer. And if meantime he was slowly starving, then all the more success for them. The weaker he got, the better for the hospital. Even Hermione felt reassured by his gaunt figure.

Now she had to touch him. She longed to put on thick woollen gloves on her hands so she would not to have to feel his skin on hers.. Damn, at least Muggles got to put on disposable gloves when dealing with the sick. But here it was unnecessary, because the germs were destroyed by magic.

She tugged at the pillow supporting Voldemort's upper body to pull it a bit closer. Now that she was so near, she could no longer ignore the terrible smell coming from him. He hadn't been bathed since the day he woke from the coma. The date of the last diaper change was also unknown.

She tried not to breathe, but this did not help, because she was starting to feel faint. Taking irregular, shallow breaths, she decided she would have to bear the smell until she was finished with her task. Cautiously, as if she were putting her hand into a container full of maggots, disgusted and terrified, she pushed her arm under his back, slipped her hand under his arm and manouverd his upper arm so that it rested on his chest. Now she had to move even closer. She put her second hand under his arm and dragged him up into a sitting position. Then she turned him over onto the side. The thin, snow-white legs, which looked more like sticks than human extremities, were put over the edge of the bed.

Now she grabbed him hard again and pulled him off the bed with one desperate heave. For such a bony person, he was surprisingly heavy, like a wet sack. Gasping for breath, she took one step to the side and with her last ounce of strength, lugged him onto the bedside chair.

She trembled violently. She felt as if she had carried an elephant through the entire hospital, from the cellar to the roof. Her eyes focused warily on his lifeless-looking form. She took a few steps back and directed her wand at the filthy, reeking bed.

The blanket and the mattress flew off the bed and into the laundry bag hanging by her trolley. Another flick of the wand and a new mattress and fresh sheets landed neatly on the bed. Only a thin, white linen spread floated over the fresh made bed, ready to cover him. Hermione noticed another cloth lying on the trolley. It was glossy and seemed to be made of a plastic-like material. It was probably supposed to be put under his body while she washed him, so it immediately floated onto the bed as well.

"I will put you back on the bad and wash you, all right?" She sounded like a scared little mouse rather than the best student Hogwarts had seen in years, who had been so successful in the fight against this very man. Once more she placed herself behind him and dragged him, virtually wheezing with the effort, back onto the bed, but not to lay him down. She sat him on the edge of the bed and, to her greatest surprise, he did not topple over, but remained motionless. Perhaps it was due to the paralysing charm that he couldn't fall against her will.

Numb and empty, his gaze was still fixed on some unnamed object in the distance and his face remained absent and expressionless.

She took a cloth, soaked it with soap-water and started to mop his back. As she ran the cloth over his body, she noticed that in certain places the skin was rough, and the wrinkles that formed at her touch remained far longer than normal. She recalled having read in a book that this was a sign of dehydration.

Evidently nobody had dared to give him much to drink since he woke up. Hermione sympathised with her colleagues.

His back was covered with bedsores. After she washed him she would have to turn him over so that she could rub in the brown salve.

Trembling, she squeezed the water out of the washcloth and poured fresh water into the bowl. Now she had to wash his face and the front part of his body.

His face… how dreadful a human face could be. But the fire in his red eyes was absent. They were not glowing anymore, but they were still scary…

Only his warm breath on her face indicated that this thing she was washing was not a mannequin, but a living human being. Well, sort of, at least. The former dark lord was completely still as Hermione scrubbed him down.

If they had given her a cloth and told her to wash a colony of giant flying cockroaches, she couldn't have been more terrified and nauseated. Every step she had to take forward made her shudder. She reached out with her arms, but kept her upper body as far away as possible. Every breath she felt on her skin made her jump back, only to continue washing him thereafter. Even more nervous, if that was even possible…

Did she have to brush his teeth? How? "Open your mouth, please, I have to brush your teeth" she squeaked.

No reaction. Now she calmed down a bit and became more confident. If he had intended to grab her throat to strangle her, he'd already have done that. Still, it was terrifying to touch him. She grabbed his chin and pressed her thumb and forefinger to the sides of his mouth to open it. It was not open very wide, but enough to squeeze through the toothbrush in and brush his teeth quite thoroughly. The mouth was now open wide enough for her to see that his teeth were, as far as she could see, spotlessly white. Hygiene and cleanliness seemed to be have been important to him. Nonetheless, now his breath smelled so bad it made her queasy.

After this work was done, she put him carefully back to bed. She could not even look at what she was doing when she changed his diaper. She disposed of it with a flick of her wand, then washed his legs.

Then she needed fresh water once more. Her next task would require plenty of fresh water. He was so… filthy. So she went to the washbasin on the wall to get fresh water.

It was ice-cold. Apparently, he did not deserve warm water.

Hermione wished nothing more than to run away screaming. The whole area of his body under the diaper was covered with filth. Horrible, disgusting, nauseating… The breath taking smell nearly made Hermione cry.

She wrapped her hands in thick, soapy washcloths and scrubbed him until the water turned a nasty brown and she had to go to the basin to refresh it.

On one hand, she did not want to look at all this filth, but on the other hand, she had be able to see what she was doing to be sure that she cleaned him properly.

She kept glancing fearfully below his abdomen to check if her washing his intimate parts caused a reaction from his body. Had she noticed any traces of an erection, she'd abandon all pretence of pride and run away screaming. But his whole body was still completely motionless.

Afterwards she had to rub in the salves, so she removed the plastic mat and turned him over to dab the ointment onto the bedsores. Some of them were already bleeding, but the brown salve was amazingly effective. However, this was definitely the first time the paste was used during his stay in this hospital.

After she changed the diaper and covered the thin, pale body with a cloth (still unable to look at his face), she felt a bit safer. The worst tasks were over.

Most of the work was done. Now Hermione had to feed it..him…whatever. But with what? She couldn't imagine him getting three balanced meals a day like the other patients upstairs. Pensively, she lifted a few bottles standing on the trolley. She identified them as mineral water and tube feed. Since he didn't have any tubes or needles (how could a log of wood like him have managed to get rid of the tubes?) she would probably have to feed him like a baby.

She felt impossibly silly and humiliated. The only consoling thought was that none of her friends knew what she was doing. Even if it hadn't been forbidden, she would have never told any of them about this. They would only scorn her.

She readjusted the bed again so that the upper part of his body was slightly lifted. She parted his lips and put the mouth of the bottle between them, then gradually tipped it over, so that first the water, and then the nutrition-liquid made its way slowly down his throat. Sometimes a drop trickled over the corner of his mouth, but she wiped it off immediately.

He looked as if he was still in a coma. Yes, his eyes were open but this was the only trait that distinguished him from a coma patient. Hermione did not know if his numbness was making things easier or frightening her.

After her work was completed, she looked at the clock on the wall. Thirty minutes past 10. It had taken her more time than planned. What a terrible morning! But somehow, she had made it… until tomorrow. No, she dreaded it too much to think about it now.

Helen had put a sheet of paper on the trolley. It was an accurate list of what belonged in the room and what she had to take back with her. Nothing could stay here that did not belong to the sickroom. He must not get even a shred of a chance to attack the personnel, or to kill himself. He must not die until the Ministry had judged and condemned him in public.

Trembling and always facing his bed, she made her way to the door ant sent out the signal to the Aurors to open it. Still, she did not dare turn her back on him.

As she exited the room, she realized how harried and haunted she must look in the eyes of the Aurors.

Quickly, now.. She had to clean up the trolley as fast as possible so she could get back upstairs to Helen and..

And what? Anything, just to be with someone who did not frighten her.


	4. Numb

**Thanx a lot to AllegroAssai who helped me with this chapter *kiss***

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_**Definition: Stupor**_

_A stupor is a psychological state of mind. The person concerned is captured in his/her own mind. The person appears motionless and numb, unable to be roused by any form of external stimuli._

_This can occur during bouts of clinical depression or schizophrenia. It is an extreme psycho-social escape reaction from an environment experienced as overpowering._

_The psyche says "good night" and switches the light of perception off. A dreamless sleep with open eyes, because it would be too terrible to see the world around you._

_These states of mind were observed in concentration camps. The prisoners went numb and fell into a stupor or, even worse, a catatonic numbness, because they weren't able to take the harassment in there._

_You cannot switch this state of mind on or off by yourself. It´s not something the person decides. It's rather an automatism._

_It's a psychological survival mechanism.

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**Chapter 4: Numb**

Hermione went upstairs to meet Helen in the spell-damages, but she could not find her. She had almost given up when she saw the tall, blond woman who went straight to the locked ward.

"Nurse Helen…" she shouted close to desparation across the corridor. Helen's head jerked round sharply. Upstairs, far away enough from the horror,she didn't came across as serious and tense, appeared gentler and downright glad to see Hermione.

Had she thought that Hermione would drop dead when she saw the patient?

In a motherly manner, she wrapped her arm around the young girl's shoulders and huggedher.

"Done with him?"

Hermione nodded, blinking back tears. Yes, she was done with him, done with her work and felt so tired and old as if she hadn't slept in years… though it was only 11 am in the morning.

"I… yes, everything is done. But it is so early, Nurse Claris said the helpers would have to work eight hours a day. What shall I do next? May I accompany you?" Helen gave her a friendly smile and nodded. With a quick flick of her wand, she opened the ward-door, let her and Hermione in and lockedthe door again.

"Actually, you could go home. He is your only patient. All you have to do is look after him for about two hours a day. When you have finished your work, whatever time of day it is, you are done. It is still the hardest job in this hospital." For a very short moment, hardly visible,Helen looked even more serious and disgusted than she did downstairs, but not for long and the expression in her face became commiserative when she smiled at the still trembling Hermione. She guided her into another corridor, which was considerably friendlier and lighter then the corridor in the…dungeon below.

"However," said Helen, "I understand that you want to talk to someone after this… experience. Well, first I have to go to the Longbottoms to give them their special potions. You come along with me... it won't take long. Afterwards I can take a break so we could go to the Visitors' Tearoom and we can have a talk, okay?"

Hermione nodded automatically. Everything was all right with her as long she hadn't to stay alone with her thoughts. Longbottoms… LONGBOTTOMS? Neville's Parents?

YES!

Helen guided her in a kitschy room, which was more similar to a children´s room than a sickroom. A coloured radio played children's music and over there, near the window, stood Neville's father and, if Hermione wasn't mistaken, tried to water a flower painted on the wall with a toy watering can. Not far from him sat a woman with short greying hair in a rocking chair, an absent expression on her face, and listened to the music. The blond nurse appeared to be so much more lively than this morning. With a jolly abuzz, she waved with two phials in their face around and piped "Frank! Alice! It is time for your drinks. You want to be big and strong, don't you?" Helen laughed girlish, then served the potions to the two people.

This childish treatment felt inappropriate to Hermione; the Longbottoms were in their forties. Neville's parents gulped down their potions obediently and went back to their places, without establishing eye-contact with either Helen or Hermione.

Nevertheless, the blond nurse was absolutely proud of her potion, because this potion, and only this potion was the reason for the mind-blowing improvements in the behaviour of her grey-haired "children". It would cause them to be a little more responsive every day.

Sympathy overwhelmed Hermione because now she saw Neville's dear face in her mind. Surely, his parents had been strong when they withstood those curses, but at what price? Neville surely had missed out on a lot in his past. Yes…poor Neville. And the reason was HIM. Her patient.

Helen's face expression grew more serious while she waved her wand to make the beds of Nevilles parents. "I know, you´d rather be here, upstairs. Wouldn't you?" Hermione shrugged and nodded faintly. Helen kept glancing at the bed sheets, which were swirling over the beds.

"The voluntary helpers, every single one of them, came here to help the victims of the war. But in some way you're doing this too." Now she turned around to the astonished looking Hermione. "Let's put it this way ... All the people in this hospital, look at Frank and Alice, almost everyone is here because of _him_. These are all victims of _him_. Many were captured and tortured under his regime. These people deserve rehabilitation and retaliation. We have to ensure that he is sane enough to stand trial. He has to be alive to be sued and killed, yes killed. Then justice has won. The people all over the world shall see that our country judges him, his mindset and his doings fiercely." Passionately she added: "We don't forgive…this _thing_. What would we look like if we just simply did away with him?

No… we're not like him. Quick and easy? Never… he'd be glad if we did it this way, so no. His victims deserve the chance to spit in his face before he dies." Helen stopped for a moment, the wild expression in her eyes betrayed the passionate hatred she felt for this man. A pillow, changing it's own pillowcase, floated over her head. "An official condemnation is needed to get financial help from other governments. The new minister told us so. That's the actual reason why he is still alive, why we didn't let him die, we need much help from other countries to pay amends to his victims and for the rebuilding. Yeah, in more than a hundred years people will know what he was nothing than a dangerous madman. Fullstop."

Somehow, this course of action sounded reasonable enough to Hermione, but there was one question left. "But why is he said to be dead? Why won't the Minister inform his people about Voldemort's whereabouts and his upcoming execution?"

The mattress floated aloft, turned upside down and fresh linen, also flying, was put on it. Now Helen paid full attention to Hermione. " We do not want him to become a martyr. He shall not have the chance to give pitiable, pathetic interviews to the press. Maybe he would rouse compassion when the people saw the bag of bones he is. That's the opinion of the new minister. Also,nobody knows how many Death Eaters there are still out there. It is quite possible that some of them would try and free him. No! We keep him hidden until the trial is over and after that, he will be executed on a secret date. It's better if no one knows about him at all." Proud abouther knowledge, Helen patted Hermione on the back and smiled.

The young Gryffindor looked at Frank and Alice. The nurse did not notice them any longer, as she had other work to do. After a patient's basic needs were cared for, he or she seemed to turn into furniture for the staff. Assembly-line work. No time to take care for the patients sufficiently. No, Helen was busy rubbing salve on a grass-green furuncle in another patients face. The salve seemed to be similar to the one Hermione used a wee while ago.

Only one had a nurse to his own **. **Him, of all people… as if he deserved it. What an utter mockery that was…

Helen took Hermione by the arm, waved goodbye to her "children" and guided Hermione across the whole hospital to the visitors tearoom. There she ordered tea and sandwiches for both of them while Hermione looked for an empty table.

xXx

Sitting there, more then a _bit_ confused, the young woman sipped her tea thoughtfully, not noticing it was rather too hot to drink. "Do you know what I keep asking myself? He is so… apathetic. He didn't seem to register me at all. Could it be possible that maybe… well, maybe he got brain damaged at the duel?"

Helen straightened herself, shook her head and narrowed her eyes. "NO! AS IF!" she said a bit too loud for an eye-to-eye conversation. Some heads turned around, so Helen continued in a quieter voice. "The healers examined him thoroughly. The same old story there… no reaction. No… he thinks he is on stage. This woman healer called it a "stupor". Balderdash, if you ask me. He's just offended and petulant. He has no bees in his bonnet. He is still too lazy and tooproud to talk to us. He probably thinks we are below him."

Angrily, Helen bit the head of her roll off, still chewing she carried on speaking after a while . "At least, he managed to ditch the infusions. Nobody knows how he did it. We have never seen him lift a single finger. Nevertheless, when he woke up, these things disappeared. Last week we tried it three times... three times! But every single time we turned our back, he managed to let it disappear** …**and he still lay there as motionless as always. Creepy, if you ask me ".

Hermione was agitated, too when she thought about what Voldemort could do with her when she was with him… without a single motion. Even though she didn't like to hear it, Helen carried on with her warnings.

"I tell you, take care. I've heard some stories about him… It wouldn't surprise me if he could kill people just with a glance. Or maybe astral-movement. He certainly can do those things. That's why he is so numb, his soul is not inside him, it's upstairs to end what it once began, to kill his victims eventually." Helen knocked so hard on the table that the rolls on the her plate danced.

"But he will try it. Yes… and I'll show him the rewards he gets for it. The Aurors keep a close watch on him twenty-four seven. Apart from that **, **the staff, all the healers and nurses, won't let him do any more harm. Don't bother… he doesn't deserve it. He's no human being; he's just an evil thing we hide in our cellar."

Hermione shook her bushy head and bit into her sandwich. No, she would not cause trouble. She would try to see him for what he really was… not a human being, just a thing. A dangerous thing, for sure without a soul or any feelings. He… IT…deserved nothing but harm for the rest of his… it's life.

"Has he attacked anyone?" she wanted to know. Helen shook her head once more. "No, weird. Isn´t it? He just lies around and stares into space**." **Hermione nodded, she knew what Helen was talking about. If he would bluster or rage… then one would know what to be afraid of. But this numbness… he was like a lurking shadow, an unknown harassment… watching for a moment to lure them all into a disaster.

xXx

Lost in thought, Hermione walked along the streets of London. It was so early, 12:30 pm… Tonight Ron invited her, Harry and Ginny out to dinner to celebrate Hermiones first working day… in the Leaky Cauldron… but, no matter. However, they arranged to meet there at around 6pm because they had believed Hermione to have a nine to five. What should she do in the meantime?

Actually, in a way she was glad that her friends were not yet with her. This gave her more time to come up with an excuse. She'd have to tell them why she was not working in the ward they believed her to be working in. She could tell them, that her patient was a known Death Eater, though that would cause anger, too.

Mournfully she thought of the Tonks, Lupin, Sirius, Mad-Eye… or Fred. How funny this boy had been… but they were all dead now, dead like so many other people. Because of _him_ and his gang of assassins. What would her friends say when they found out her set task was to be pampering one of Fred's murderers? Well, they probably would not be quite as outraged.

She was not a friend of lies or secrets, but she felt that this would burden their friendship too much. A term was swirling in her head. Nurse Helen mentioned the word "_Stupor_", this seemed to be a term to characterise Voldemort's state of mind.

Determinedly, she entered the Leaky Cauldron to walk across it, to reach her wanted destination. Diagon Alley, or rather, a particular store in there. She aimed to go to Flourish & Blotts to buy some books about care-charms…hoping one of those books would contain a definition of "Stupor". And anyway, there were so many useful things to learn…

No, she did not believe Voldemort could do astral-walkings to attack other people in the hospital. But the people in this country, and in other countries as she heard, suffered so much from him in the past, hence, hundreds of horror stories were told about him…and who could distinguish the truth from the lies?

The healer's opinion seemed to be as important as Helen´s doubts, so she'd have to read stuff about "stupor". Whatever it may be.

An hour and three cups of tea later,Hermione felt almost safe again. She came to rest in a café in the Diagon Alley and was surrounded by pile of books. She was embarrassed to ask the salesman about "stupor" , and so she'd bought half of the medicine and care literature, but not even this was enough, so she bought some interesting looking and expensive-being books about psychology.

Two book towers, each of them ten books high, stood on her right and on her left. Only magic could prevent this avalanche of knowledge from burying her.

These book towers were useful, but expensive in the same way. She'd have to economise. Sure, her parents gave her money and the hospital paid her a small salary, but to be honest, the voluntary helpers were so very popular because they worked for peanuts. Even though Helen reckoned that Hermione could get a bit more… Danger pay? Presumably…

Hermione sighed and shut the tenth book, moaned as she looked at the towers beside her and took the eleventh book. An encyclopedia of psychology… she scrolled to „S" and really, a few pages further she found the searched term.

She read the definition and it gave her something to think about. Pensively, she stirred a sugar cube into her Twining's and added some whole milk.

There was lots of information on stupor **: **Numbness, mental-escape-reaction, awake – but not available… this appeared to apply to Voldemort's state this morning. It also fit with Harry's scar pain. From time to time it would prickle, but without causing Harry to see real events or feel real emotions.

This sounded correct. Physically alive, but mentally dead.

Had he been kissed by a Dementor? Was this the way those people lived who had been kissed?

Pah… as if.. as if Voldemort even _had_ a soul. With an snarl, she flicked to the next page. As if a Dementor would find anything worth sucking up inside him. Maybe THAT was the reason why they never attacked him… because he had no soul anymore. No… and if he had been kissed by a Dementor, Helen would have known about it.

She concentrated on her book. None of what she read really fit. Schizophrenia… sure, Voldemort was a psychopath, but he was mad in a different **way**. Sign of a heavy depression? Pah… even a slight depressive mood required more emotional richness then the Dark Lord had ever had.

Nevertheless, here… heavy state of shock. After all, all of his plans were undone **, **his followers were dead, in Azkaban or denying his presence alltogether… and, of course… in the moment the curse bounced back, he was afraid he had to die… However, how did he manage to get rid of the infusions and the catheters? If she understood this correctly, a person could not choose to be in a stupor or not. She would ask Harry if he had noticed anything strange.

A feeling of deep unease overwhelmed her and she shut this book, too. As if Harry, or any of her friends would be up for a chat about Lord Voldemort's emotions. A good excuse was necessary.

But this question was too important to simply let it go. It could give her the answer she needed; was it possible to do this job without fear and panic, or was she actually risking her life?


	5. Friends

**Thanx to AllegroAssai who helped me with this chapter**

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**Chapter 5: Friends**

Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry sat in the tap-room of the _Leaky Cauldron_ and ate lentil soup. Hermione should have realised that it would be a modest meal when Ron had offered to invite them all. Lentil soup... oh well, it mattered not. It's the thought that counts, right? And Ron had wanted to make her happy. Did it really make a difference if they ate lentil soup in the Leaky Cauldron or a Five-Course-Meal in a fancy restaurant?

The atmosphere was tense. "Listen, Hermione," Harry tried hard not to sound irritated. "YOU...", he said in a threatening manner and pointed his index finger at her, "All those years you have told me to banish his presence from my head. Now that he is dead I have finally managed."

In a huff, he folded his arms and glared at her through the steam of the soup. Loudly, he continued; "I have no idea what all this interrogation is about, but I tell you one thing; I can't be arsed getting this guy back into my head. On purpose. He is dead, leave it be. Not a single soul on this table wants to talk about him or listen to anything concerning him. You got to learn to keep your gob shut at times because frankly, you are getting on everybody's nerves."

The raven-haired Gryffindor hit his lentil soup with his spoon, squinted into Hermione's direction and kept eating.

Hermione's lips thinned and her face turned from pink to purple. Angrily, she glared at Harry, having hundreds of arguments in her head. But she stayed silent, pressed her lips together even further and stared at her folded hands. She wanted to resolve the situation.

For the past half hour, Hermione had bombarded Harry with odd questions. He had to describe the exact feeling of the 'phantom pain', the prickling, how it felt to enter Voldemort's mind. Had Harry ever noticed any other emotion but hatred, scorn or the lust to kill?

"Why do you want to know?" Harry grunted to Hermione who sat right opposite. She leaned even more over her plate, so that her face was protected from Harry's icy glare and took a deep breath.

"I would like to write about it. Of course, I haven't even finished school, but Dumbledore published when he was still a pupil. Maybe I'll write an article or a book."

"About VOLDEMORT?" Ron got such a fright, that he let soup rain from the ceiling. If Hermione hadn't quickly summoned an umbrella, it surely would have dripped onto her head..

"Yeah, exactly. Why not?" Her face rigid, her chin pushed forward, Hermione leaned back and observed her friends' astonished faces.

"You see," she began and made a conciliatory gesture, "he was once young and a normal human being..."

"No he wasn't," interrupted Harry. He had jumped up from his chair and placed his fists next to Hermione's plate. "I saw him in the Pensieve, even as a little boy he was a sick sadist who felt superior and who used his abilities to torture small animals and little kids."

Hermione bit her lip and lowered her glance. She wanted to choose her words carefully. When she continued her speech, her voice was surprisingly calm and calculating; "I would like to write some sort of biography and I want to uncover what he was. And you, Harry...," she raised her head defiantly and met his glare, „You know more secrets about him than most people do. I could ask for a few more. Hagrid for instance has some information. But no one wants to talk about him."

"Well, I don't either," retorted Harry. He let himself fall back into his seat quite roughly and drummed nervously on the ebony table. His face was white apart from the angry read spots. "I want to have peace. He is dead and I am fed up of him controlling my life. The Daily Prophet is already getting on my nerves, so I would appreciate it if you stopped going on about this."

Ginny threw her arm around Harry and shot Hermione a 'Look what you have done' glance. But Hermione continued quickly, she wouldn't give up right away.

"Dumbledore showed you so much, you know so many things about him. I would like to know if the whole thing could have been prevented somehow, if it was at some point possible to heal his soul, if he didn't have normal human feelings and weaknesses..."

„No, he didn't" interrupted Harry again. From the corners of her eyes, Harry could see that some guests in the restaurant tried to eavesdrop. "You know, Hermione, you sound like Hagrid when he talks about one of his monsters. You know... you just have to get to know them better..." Ron laughed spitefully.

Hermione's almost murderous glare stopped him from saying any more. The four plates of soup lifted by themselves and flew back into the kitchen. Hermione watched them float away and thought about the things she wanted to explain to Harry. Deep in thought, she chewed her bottom lip. Her shoulders were slightly hunched, but otherwise she sat as stiff as if she had swallowed a ruler. Voldemort wasn't exactly the 'depressed' type and Harry didn't seem to feel anything that could tell her that he was suffering. Harry felt nothing. That could mean that Voldemort actually felt nothing or that Harry used occlumentics against him.

Ron gave Hermione a fright when he tried to resolve the situation and talk about her new job in St Mungo's. They'd been deeply impressed when they found out that Hermione had argued with the old coot Claris. They had had a lot of fun and described her as a female version of Argus Filch and forgot to ask what Hermione was actually doing now.

As usual, Ron started to think in the most inappropriate moments; "Where did the old dragon put you now if she thinks you are too smart to be with the other nurses?" Ginny, Harry and Ron giggled and leaned back in a relaxed way. But Hermione's body stiffened even more.

There were slightly absent expression on their faces while they remembered how Hermione, the little know-it-all, had tortured the teachers with her wisdom.

"You know, I have only one patient to take care of and he is on the closed ward," said Hermione with a fleeting gesture. "It is only three hours a day. Good for me, that gives me time to prepare for the new school year."

She hoped that the topic was over, but no. Deliberately looking bored, Hermione took her wand from her pocket and made her pumpkin juice sparkle in all colours imaginable. The clouds of smoke turned her hair into a frizzy mop.

"Cool, who is it you are caring for?" Ginny asked fascinated. Surely, she was thinking about doing the exact same thing instead of letting herself be bossed around by her mum.

Hermione turned red, pressed her lips together and felt the heat rising in her. Nervously, she looked over to the other tables. The guests were impressed with the sparkling drink and silently applauded.

Hermione sighed and remembered her excuse. "Well… he is pretty known, so I am under carer-patient-confidentiality." The three faces grew a little longer.

"It is a Death Eater. An important one at that and they keep him away from others so as to not cause panic. He still is in hospital, because he is too weak for Azkaban and is awaiting trial. Then they'll do away with him."

Ron smiled at her in a fatherly manner, put his arms around her and caressed her. "Oh, to hell, then just come home with or we go and visit your parents."

"Exactly. Don't let them get you down," agreed Ginny, smiling at Hermione.

Two new jugs appeared, filled with juice. One of them flew from guest to guest and poured juice into the empty cups. Hermione watched for a moment, then realised when Ron and Ginny seemed to think. Why they took it so well. Surely they must think that Hermione had quit the job?

She gesticulated wildly. "I haven't thrown in the towel. And I will not return to the Burrow. I have started this and I will finish it. The nurses said that all patients deserve care…" she couldn't go on when she saw her friends shocked faces.

Harry looked at her as if she was a ghost. Ginny gave the impression of being mixture between an angry Mars Weasley and a steam train. Ron… Ron had let go of her, moved aside a little and stared at her with wide open eyes. As is she was mental.

"That… THAT…" He didn't seem to have enough air fort he tantrum he wanted to throw. "You're nor SERIOUS, are you?" he managed to say.

Hermione checked if Harry or Ginny would help her, but they stared at her just as shocked as Ron did. Her eye-lids flickered nervously, her breathing laboured. She fidgeted in her chair and tried a clumsy smile to calm Ron down.

"Ah, well… I thought," her voice trembled and broke, "Er, Helen said I could get some extra cash and I need the money until school starts again und… well…" Nervously, she played with her curls, her fingers were sweaty. She let out a nervous giggle. "Well, the head nurse says that everyone deserves a minumum of dignity and…"

She stopped when Ginny turned tomato-red. Hermione knew she would start puffing and screeching now.

"DO YOU NOT CARE THAT THOSE PEOPLE KILLED FRED???"

Hermione felt herself shrink. No, of course she cared. Now Harry continued, not screaming. His tone showed that he was convinced that Hermione had taken temporary leave of her senses. "Listen Hermione, we really did understand S.P.E.W. Elf rights, great. You did get on our nerves, but… THAT!" He paused for a moment. „Just don't start with Death Eater rights."

„It isn't about their rights. Just… the staff has paralysed the man, he cannot move, he just stares into space and he has bedsores and he would starve if no one was there." She tried to defend what she was doing there, but all three just looked defiant.

"I DON'T GIVE A SHIT!" exploded Ron. "ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT YOU ARE WIPING A DEATH EATER'S ARSE? YOU ARE COMING HOME AND WANT TO TOUCH ME WITH THOSE HANDS?" Disgusted, he stared at her hands, looked as if he had to gag and wiped his arm at the bit where she had just touched him.

Hermione had to swallow when she remembered the disgusting smells and images from this morning. She fought back her tears and tried again. Softly, almost begging, she raised her hands and continued; „Ron, please. It is only until school starts again. I only get money for not letting him starve..."

Harry laughed bitterly and talked at her in a sing-song kind of way. "Come on, Hermione. HERMIONE!" He shook his head as if he still couldn't quite believe that he had to explain his point of view at all, „When we were in the cellar of Malfoy Manor, did you truly think that they had an organisation for the rights of mudbloods?" He sneered and his face expression reminded her of Snape's.

"They have threatened us, they have ripped our families apart… and their goal were people like you…," ranted Ginny who was bright red by now and pointed Hermione's scar where Bellatrix had cut her. "What do you care? Look for a different job. We don't want to have anything to do with people like them. Ron and Harry agreed loudly.

Harry leaned towards her dangerously close and Hermione shuddered when she saw every detail of his scar. "Tell me, is that the reason for interrogation about Voldemort? For your book?"

Icy cold replaced the heat that Hermione had felt a few minutes ago and her stomach cramped. He couldn't have guessed it, could he? "Listen, Hermione, let me tell you something; Whoever your new best friend is, I won't help you with whatever you are doing. Especially not if you try and show Voldemort or any of his followers in a better light. They don't deserve it. Shame on you for sitting here and asking something like that. WE… and he pointed to Ron, Ginny and himself, „haven't forgotten their crimes."

"BUT I AM NOT ON THEIR SIDE!" screeched Hermione, desperate.

"Well then, quit hat job and forget about the book," answered Ginny. "You just want to make yourself look important again!" she nagged and red angry spots appeared on her cheeks. Now Hermione couldn't stop the tears any more. They ran down her cheeks and snot came out of her nose. Every second, she sounded more like a whining dog. "You don't get this. I do NOT WANT TO MAKE MYSELF LOOK IMPORTANT!"

"Yes, you are." That was Ron who was looking at her again, but his face showed disappointment. He distanced himself even more from her. "You want to show off and show everyone how great you are and how noble. Forget it, we won't help you warp the facts. Voldemort is dead and frankly, I wouldn't mind if any of those who helped him died, too."

Ron folded his arms, pressed his lips together and sat completely straight. He had become an impenetrable fort that fought every argument down without mercy.

He was hurt, deeply hurt and that caused him to not even notice that he was becoming hurtful himself. Hermione was fed up, it had been too much today. "IF THAT'S WHAT YOU THINK, SOD YOU! DO YOUR STUFF ALONE!" She screamed and then started sobbing and buried her face in her hands.

The summoned umbrella turned in the air and magically refilled lentil soup rained on Ron, Harry and Ginny. The guests looked at them, the three had everyone's attention. They had been recognised immediately and words like 'Death Eaters' and 'Voldemort' ensured undivided attention. All four of them had performed an interesting stage play, but Hermione didn't care that she was being watched. She had jumped up from her chair and screamed so loud, that the chandeliers vibrated and jittered. "RONALD WEASLEY! YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE DISGUSTED BY MY HANDS ANY MORE!!! IF YOU DON'T BEG FOR FORGIVENESS ON YOUR HANDS AND KNEES, I WANT NOTHING TO DO WITH ANY OF YOU! I AM NOT A TRAITOR!"

Snorting and puffing and sobbing, Hermione stormed out of the tap-room, ran up the stairs to her room and threw herself onto the bed. She buried her head in the cool pillow.

It was so unfair, _they_ were so unfair. She'd come up with such a good excuse. Everyone should have believed her to write a book. They should have believed it if she had said that she was caring for a Death Eater because no one else was doing it. Of course they should have. She curled herself up in a fetal position and trembled. They should have believed a whole lot more, but now they thought her to be a traitor, threw accusations at her. Thought that she tried to excuse their crimes, trivialise them in order to make herself look good.

Angrily, she shot up and then fell back down onto the bed. Then hit the pillow with both fists. How could they think that about her? Yes, of course she had thought about giving up. Of course she needed the money, of course she was too proud to admit defeat in front of Helen, who had been so nice and Claris, who thought her to be an incapable windbag.

None of that would have bothered her if her friends were by her side, if her friends understood her. But no, they thought she was only craving recognition.

And tomorrow, she had to go back to him. Hermione's skin was blotchy due to the anger and the tears, she also started to turn slightly green. To HIM!!! She gagged and ran to the toilet to vomit when she thought about his naked, stinking body. She hadn't quite made it. Exhausted and saggy, she collapsed next to the toilet.

DISGUSTING! She was disgusted by herself. And RON! How much had he hurt her when he told her that he wouldn't touch someone who did what she did. And he didn't know WHO she was caring for.

What would her friends say if they found that it it was HIM she was looking after? Trembling, she stood up and cleaned her nose. It was so blocked, she couldn't breathe.

Why didn't she just quit? It didn't matter what happened to this butcher. It was only a question of weeks or months anyway. He was already destined for death. E should lie there and die like an animal, that was the way he lived anyway.

But then she would have to admit her weaknesses if front of her friends, she would have to admit that she really only wanted to feel good about herself and that she was an incapable know-it-all.

Her wand lay next to her bed. She got it and went back to the bathroom to clean up the mess. She should really ask Helen for instructions for cleaning charms. She was, after all, a witch, so she could make her life easier with those.

She felt so angry she could have bitten her wand hand when she remembered that she could have at least summoned rubber gloves. She had to learn. At least there was Helen, who seemed to – contrary to her friends –understand her.

She had to go back tomorrow. She needed money and she had to ensure that the victims got their vengeance. Her friends thought that Hermione didn't care about those victims.

She burst out crying again. And she'd have to go back, would have to wash the naked, white skin, the expressionless face. She's have to cope with the smell from the man who she could only think of someone who had scared and murdered people.

xXx

Completely overtired, with creases on her forehead and dark shadows under her eyes, Hermione stepped into forensics. Two Aurors were standing guard. At first she was confused, but then she remembered that Helen had said they guarded this twenty-four seven for the next few months. Someone would always be there, she wouldn't have to be alone. It somehow calmed her, if that was at all possible.

Voldemort was wandless, devitalised, paralysed and obviously in a mental deep sleep. She would do her work while her thoughts wandered to her parents… She would not look at him and leave as fast as possible.

If there was still some work left after two hours, she would leave in spite of this. Helen was right. No matter if he got sick (better said: sicker, he was already sick) because of it… he was already broken. Why try so hard?

She entered the room, slowly, with pushing the squeaking trolley. There he lay. Pale and numb. The eyes were closed. Maybe he slept. Much better for her, that meant she didn't have to talk to him or feed him.

If she was fast enough, she could be finished while he still slept. Then she wouldn't have to watch him stare out of barred window, wouldn't have to look into these eyes.

With confident steps, Hermione approached him. Without hesitation, without fear she stepped beside his bed and bent over him. A slight slap in his face to see if he really was asleep. The clapping noise echoed and caused her goosebumps. Once more she slapped him, a little harder now, but he wouldn't wake up.

Ron, Harry and Ginny should she her now. She did not fraternise with the enemy, she arranged retaliation. Hermione, the angel of revenge. RIGHT!

Oh well, if he was lying around anyway, she could brush his teeth. Battling the stench was more important than caring for the bedsores on his pelvis. More important than feeding him. The main thing was that he did not stink. SHE had to stand this for the next few months. SHE would decide what was bearable and what was not. Her decision…not his.

She was just about to bend over to him to open his mouth when a little bird banged against the window. Hermione startled. Oh, this poor wee birdie. Hopefully it wasn't injured. Standing on her tiptoes, she tried to look out of the small, rectangular window to see what had happened to this bird. However, the window was rather high and Hermione was not tall enough. She hardly saw anything. Hopefully, the animal was well…but when…

AAAAHHHH!! She howled in pain when she felt long, thin fingers clawing into her hair, grabbing her head and throwing her backwards onto the bed. Lord Voldemort wasn't lying there any more. He'd jumped as fast as a cobra to grab her with red flaming eyes. The mouth curled into a sneer, he bent her head backwards as he stared at her.

Then he stretched his arm, the white hands clutched her throat as he gazed at her triumphantly.

His face close, he snarled with the coldest, cruelest voice she had ever heard. "Worthless, filthy mud-blood." The madman ridiculed her. His clawhands ripped up her collar and with an appalling cracking sound, his sharp-edged teeth sunk in her tender, velvety neck.

Black blood dripped out of the corner of his mouth as he straightened up, just to bent over her again and then…darkness surrounded her and her last thought was for Snape who'd died a similar death.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

Screaming in panic, Hermione shot up. She was sweating, wincing, crying… where was she? Where had he gone to? She jumped onto her knees and looked for him… jumped out of the bed and looked underneath it. Where was he gone? Her fingers clasped her throat to protect it from further bites but…her neck was dry. No blood. It took her a few minutes until she realised that this had only been a dream.

Breathing heavily, she climbed back into her bed. However, she was not calm, because tomorrow she really did have to go to the dormant snake. All she could do was hope that he would not jump up, full of life and hatred, to slash her.


	6. Cold Routine

**Mysterychick:** Thanx for the review. Could you please give me your e-mail address so I could send you this (or other) chapter to beta it? I'd be so glad if you'd do so…_ cuddle_

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**Chapter 6: Cold Routine**

The next morning came and was dreary. Hermione was in no hurry to go to her job. According to what Helen had said, it was not important at which time she arrived. If she wouldn't go there at all, nobody would detect it presumably. Well, probably not quiet right. They would supposedly

notice it, if they would find him lying dead in his bed during a control…in two or three months.

Still Hermione was to duteous to do earn money for something she did not do and so she decided to go with this job in any case. Of ´course, it was also an act of defiance. What a barefacedness to accuse her for betrayal…after all she had done for Hogwarts, the order or her friends… This was her live and … yes, it was her live. No need to apologise for staying in the hospital. It was just a job… and nobody knew how special this job was, so they had actually no reason to be so unfair. Whatever… she would stay there and maybe… if she were in the mood to do so… she would forgive her friends when they would recognise what she was right, as always…

Hopefully they'd do so, ´cause, to be true, Hermione felt rather bad and she was frightened of being all alone. Anyhow, last night, after the clash, she brought herself to end this job. Someday he will be death she consoled herself. In a few month all this would be over, she said to herself. Then she would go back to school. Maybe he died even before the school started again, so she wouldn't have to ask Professor McGonagall to do a few weeks of home learning until the execution.

Helen intimated to her, that he would not survive the coming October. The ministry pushed for a quick hearing. They wanted to show him to the world, to denounce and sentence his doings and then, execute him as fast as possible. No Revisions, no delay, no adjournment.

Afterwards her life would go on… Actually, the morning was not so dreary at all, she thought to herself, as she looked out of the window while she put on her clothes. In fact, the morning was not as dreary as she first thought. It was not dark; it was even pleasantly light and sunny outside. Still, somehow the sun seemed to shine a dark light.

Thinking of Ron was also no help. She loved him, but this nauseation in his eyes when she told him about her duties in this job; it seemed to be impossible to wipe it away of her mind.

They´d often quarrelled but they´d always made up again. Hopefully this time too. No, she wouldn´t chuck him, he should rue his harsh words… and after this he should come back to he. Hopefully he would do so. Hopefully she would get on with Harry and Ginny again. She needed her friends, live was drearily, cheerless and so lonely without them.

xXx

Back in St.Mungo´s again, she had to deliver Claris her wand. The head nurse handed her a special hospital wand out she had to use during her working time. Claris gave the impression that she totally enjoyed Hermiones pitiable sight. She said nothing about Voldemort and she did not ask how Hermione fared yesterday, but she smiled knowing and evil as she watched Hermione who put on a face as if she had to go to her own funeral.

The wand Hermione got, instead of her own, was of a special kind. This wand only worked inside of this building… and only there. More precisely, it ought to be used only upstairs. It authorised her to open and close doors but, of course, also to exert care and simple healing charms. Like a computer chip, the wand saved all her authorities in itself. Furthermore Claris allocated Hermione to outstretch her forefinger so that Claris could prick her, not especially gentle, with a sharp needle. "OUCH!"

A drop of blood was levitated on the wand, which appeared to absorb red liquid. Therewith it now had a body-memory. This meant, only Hermione (the owner of the blood that was absorbed by the wand) was allowed, or able, to use this wand because the wand only worked when it identified the person who touched it as its owner. Otherwise the wand would (try to) electrocute the rightless person who touched it. But probably this wouldn't be necessary because the wand worked like a magnet that repelled the similar charged pole. Therefore, if Voldemort would ever be able to move himself, and if he would furthermore be able to attack Hermione and wrench the wand from Hermione, it would never succeed to him to touch it.

Each day she had to stay for about two hours a day, six days a week with him (Hermione worked on flexitime anytime between 10h and 16h), when she arrived in the hospital she had to deliver her own wand in Claris Bureau and to take the hospital-wand away. In the mean Time the hospital-wand had to stay in a purpose-built repository. When she left, she had to put the wand back to the repository. Not until then she got her own wand back.

If the wand wasn't used for more then three days, this meant after Voldemorts execution, it would destroy itself. On Sundays she didn't need to go – better said: mustn't go- to him.

Hermione listened mute, nodded on and off, to show that she paid attention the Claris lecture. Afterwards she received the hospital-wand and set out for the lower floors. As she walked down the stairs, she noticed that the looked security wing she worked in was just a small part of the cellar. Many other doors leaded to other, not less frightening looking, wards. Surely one of these doors leaded to the mortuary. How many victims of Voldemort found their way threw this door?

But Hermione didn't choose any of the other doors this day, she didn't go the died dead, so took the right, dark corridor that lead her to the looked forensic ward to meet the living dead who lay there. The dark lord or rather, that remained from him.

With a trace of fear, she that today really other Aurors kept watch on Voldemorts door as yesterday. A Detail that remained her to the nightmare she had yesterday. Today she had to gather herself again, had to take a deep breath until she dared walk threw opened the door into the dark cellar room.

Slowly, very slowly she came closer to him. The slightly creaking wheels of the trolley dined like motor saws threw the room. It was so quiet that may even the buzz o a fly had sounded as load as a waterfall.

And there he lay, in fact, right the way she left him yesterday. Exactly the way he lay where in her dream. Only one difference, his eyes there opened and gazed out of the window. "Hello…" she had to harrumph, the lump in her throat made it nearly impossible to go on talking. "It´s me again. I will come to you every day now. How do you do? Did you…sleep well?"

No Reaction. Of Course not. What had she bided? It was silly to talk to him, but the sound of a human voice, even her own, appeased her a bit. How he lay there…mortuary. If he was dead? Even coma-patients winced from time to time out of reflex. So completely without any stirs…that was not normal.

She needed to go to him to check this out. However, she did not feel like this. She wanted not to get so close to him, she wanted to have a rest. She was exhausted…only because she went threw this door. Nevertheless, this would do no good because she'd still have look after him after the rest…

A step, he lay there quiet and calm.

Another step, seemed to notice nothing and no one.

A further step, not even the bedspread was shifted.

One more step and she stood next to him.

She had no mirror with her she could hold in front of his nostrils. She could take his pulse… Oh, please not, no body contact. She was so close to him that he only had to stretch out his arm to grab her white cloak. Her gaze gilded downwards… nothing created the impression of life inside him.

YES! If she looked more thoroughly at him, she saw how the thin ribcage heaved and sank itself.

He breathed. Should she be relieved or disappointed now? "I'll sit you on the chair again and make the bed." Barely more than a thin squeak escaped out of her mouth.

Carefully she circled the bed, took the chair near the window and put it on the other side of the bed, the side that was closer to the door. It was easier for her to take him…and easier to escape, if he would jump up surprisingly.

The bed-head was turned up; therewith she could take him more easily. She turned the pillow towards her, heaved the upper part of his body a little up and clasped anew the bent forearm from behind.

As she heaved him to the chair, she turned her head as far aback as possible so that they both nearly keeled over. But the idea of his cold occiput at her cheeck was too unpleasant to stand up straight. She unclasped him so fast that he downright flopped on the chair.

Fast Hermione jumped a couple of steps behind with shock. She did not stop until she felt the iron doorknob on her back. Carefully, the wand directed to him, she come nearer again. No he did not move. She´d dropped him; he did not try to attack her so she dared to direct the wand and her attention back to the self-changing bedclothes.

Now it went bad again because she had to sit him on the bed again to wash him. Hermione looked as if she was peeling a very hot potation when the flannel in her hand glided along his body. As less body contact as possible. She winced repeatedly back, as if she´d burned herself. Every time when she had direct body contact, she jumped a bit back. Three times he almost fell from the chair because she moved away too hasty, so that she nearly pushed him over. And he…still lay in the bed, gazing numb out of the window. But who knew what was really happening inside this head?

Hermione had the pulse and the perception of a bomb disposal expert when she changed his diaper. As yesterday, the unpleasant stink inundated her again, but it was not as terrible as the first time…because yesterday he had been washed at least.

She was faster done with him as yesterday, but still overobersvent. Yesterday she hadn't known what she had to execrate or what she had to fear, but after this dream last night, the reason was obvious.

With outstretched fingers, she lilt him his head and went about brushing his teeth first, after this feeding him. Actually an illogical sequence, but who cared about? Nobody was interested in what would become of the former lord Voldemort. He lived only for the reason to that England wizards and witches could sit pretty to the world public, then they punished and killed him.

While Hermione stood around there, filling water gulp by gulp in him, always a cloth in readiness to wipe his mouth…she couldn't prevent a strange feeling from arising in her.

There he was…the nowadays most powerful wizard in the whole world. Whole continents trembled when they only heard his name. A name, that spread fear and terror across the whole world.

And when she pricked him, she still could see a distorted skin fold looming. Maybe his odd semiconsciousness was caused by underfeeding and water deficiency?

After the tube feeding bottle was empty, she gave him the mineral water. Gulp, wipe, gulp, wipe. At least he was able to swallow it…indubitable a reflex.

After this bottle was empty, too she watched him closely. Pale and thin. His skin was not only white, it rather looked marmorate. Certainly, he felt terrible cold. The bedspread they gave him was rather thin. She tipped the spread with her wand so that it swelled a bit. Trembling she pulled the spread a bit higher. If he would die of thirst or freeze to death, she would not have finished her task correctly. She had to pay a little bit more attention to him. Not for her, not for him…for his victims.

Maybe she could perform a refilling-charm to have more mineral water. How much water was inside? Something about 500 millilitres. How much water should a man drink each day? In any case, more then the hospital conceded to him. Tomorrow she would give him even more…but now all that she wanted was to go away. Anew she needed more than two hours…

"I´m going now. I'll be back tomorrow, yes?"

She left the dark lord immobilised and motionless behind. Nerveless she kept on pointing with her wand on him, as she went backwards out of the door. You never know…

She did not see Helen today. They made clear to her that this was a task of her own. If she needed help, she had to search it herself. Nobody would come to her to offer her advices,

After the work had been done, Hermione sat herself in the visitors tearoom and spread a sheet of parchment out to write her report. But somehow… somehow…it would probably be better if she wouldn't write to clearly what she'd done today. They could get some things wrong. Better, she would not refer that she tuck him warm in or that she gave him more water then the hospital collocated her to give him.

Her finishing time was rather lonely. She was overcome by the impressions and feelings that descended on her. She could look for Helen the next day to ask her, if it was allowed to work free in other wings, after she had done her work in the forensic ward... But, to be honest, this 2, 5 hours exhausted her to much to focus any other jobs than this. She was agitated and tiered at the same time, unable to create any clear thought. She needed someone to talk, to tell someone about this war of nerves… But with whom? Helen? Rather not… she was busy in the upper floors. Her parents? Where in Melbourne… Ron…or Harry and Ginny? No, she still had a bit of dignity. That would look as if she would try to apologise herself. What for?

She wandered about aimlessly threw the streets of London for hours. This was not that bad. Why she nether did that before? Because she always had been supervised before…by her parents, Hogwarts teachers, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and…last but not least… by the death-eaters.

Accidentally (really?) she came around Grimmauld Place 12. Harry said he would fix the house up because he wanted to live there when he was not in Hogwarts and, of course, after his school time. However, it took him a lot of time to get rid off all the banns and curses that lay on this house… if he was at home today? Maybe he saw her standing there…but nobody came out, so she moved on.

Back in the Leaky Cauldron, she made a cass check. If she thought on the money she earned in the hospital and added the money her parents gave, her… it would presumably be better if she stayed in here instead in looking for a small flat in Muggle London. An own flat was too expensive and actually not important for the short time she would stay here. In addition, furthermore to be honest, she was pretty glad that she was not all alone here. In the evenings, she could eat her money downstairs in the taproom, had small talks with Tom (why she never noticed how scary this name was), the room-maids or other guest, with those sometimes also spent her early night and chatted with them. But the most time, of course, she spent in muggle- or wizard libraries or read the books she brought with from where in her room.

While she buried her nose in her new Arithmancy-book she cogitated who might was the new Head Master in Hogwarts. Presumably, Professor McGonagall. Nevertheless, she was getting a little bit long in the tooth. Well, Dumbledore had been even older so her age was probably no obstacle. But who would teach Transfiguration now? Moreover, of course, who was the new "Defence Against the Dark Arts" Teacher? If the course, that lay on this workplace, would be broken, when Voldemort died finally.

It was all so surreal then she thought about the last year… the time they spend in the Grimmauldplace, how they lived in this draughty tent for months, her Parents who did not knew they had a daughter, the horcrux-chase…and three teenagers in the middle from all this, surrounded by fear, chaos and death. What was left over? But such thoughts only made her perplexed.

If she would really go to him every day, it would be better not to think about such questions. He was a –yes, why not? - a think she had to keep alive. That he also was a massmurderer, a devil; a beast did not chance her task.

She got no help on the next day too. Ash she had decided yesterday, she gave him more to drink when she came, she also gave him something in the middle-of her working time and before she went home. Hermione also tried to give him a bit more of tube feeding, but there were banns on the bottle apparently that made prevented the refilling-charm.

She could not help to feel angry. She felt even angrier as the second tube-feeding bottle she brought the next day clandestinely, disappeared in exactly the moment she passed the door.

Yes, the personnel really followed a line of thoughts so that no one could give the idea, to afford even a spark of sympathy to the most eerie patient in the hospital.

All they wanted was to weaken him, no doubt about this. He should not get even rudimentary enough food he'd needed to convalesce. The seer principle aggravated her. No, not because of him, only the principle that stood behind these banns made her angry.

Saturday, when Hermione delivered her hospital-wand in Claris bureau, was the first day Claris seemed to occur who Hermione was and why she worked in this hospital. More precisely said, the first time she talked to her since she sent her downstairs to Voldemort. Now she noticed Hermione and told her to accomplish physiotherapies on him.

„But I don´t know how to do something like this" Hermione interposed, who already had decided to go to the next library to make up for her failures.

However, Claris answer to this objection was a bored shoulder shrugging. "Don't sophisticate on him. You shall bend and stretch his arms, legs and fingers a few times. Don't make effort with this, there's no need for." But something else seemed to be much more interesting to Claris. "Does he already talk? "She asked in a tone as one would ask parents about her 15-month-old baby-boy. Hermione shook her head. „No, nothing at all. He´s only starring. I don't believe that he…" „What you believe and what not is all the same to me. Make him talking, that's your job you're paid for." Claris eyed her so suspiciously as if she thought Hermione would snore threw her whole working day. "He shall be able to talk and to sign documents at his trial. Furthermore, he shall be able to sit without keeling over. So, and this is your job. Get him to do this. " Issued General-Claris her command.

"But I thought I shouldn't talk to him" objected Hermione once more. "YOU shall not talk to him, HE shall talk to YOU" bossed the commanding-used voice of Claris to Hermione. "Yes, but how…?" Claris grimaced an evil "Your-Pigeon" smirk "Well, when you'll have to come up with an Idea. However, I am sure that cannot be a problem to such a clever young witch like you. You surely know everything about this too" said Claris with unashamedly derision in her voice.

No, Hermione did not know… to do physiotherapeutic exercises with mentally disordered ex-dictators was up to know no part of the Hogwarts-curriculum.

"Couldn't I talk to a healer?" Claris put on a face as if Hermione asked her to arrange a personal appointment with the good Lord for her. The grey-haired women met Hermione with disbelief, shook her head and pushed Hermione out of the door. "The healers don't go to him. You're in charge of him and you must go now."

That is the way it was… Shoved in a corner to be forgotten. Even the healers did not bother to do a minimum for "the thing". This bitter cognition guided Hermione in her weekend.

Hermione could not stand the loneliness anymore and so she decided to visit her parents. A long journey for such a short visit, but now she really needed dear faces around her.

Who would look after him on Sunday, when she was not there? Nobody, that was clear to her.

Full of proud Hermione thought of her parents who would never forget a patient in a dark corner of their doctor's surgery. No matter if, they deserved it or not, they took care for everyone who needed help.

On Monday afternoon, she was back in London, back in St.Mungo´s Hospital. A few Wizards stood heavily gesticulating in the entrance hall as she arrived, obviously discussing about something very exciting. Curious about that they might have to get upset about, she walked to a placard at the wall near them, which showed on moved pictures some first-aid skills. She could barley understand them, even she was very close to them, but it was so loud in the overcrowded hall so that she heard nothing but a single snippets of the conversation.

But one word she caught more thoroughly. The name "Malfoy!". As if stung by an adder she spun around "Malfoy?" she interrupted the wizards, who only now seemed to notice her. "The trial against the family Malfoy starts tommorrow. Didn't you get this? "cleared a slightly fretful looking wizard Hermione up.

Totally confused, the teenage witch shook her head. The man who talked to her was tall and heavily built. Now, she had a closer look at him she identified him as a healer. The first incarnate healer she saw since started to work here. But a nurse-helper was probably not important to him because he turned back to his colleges. "I'm sure they manage it again to get away unpunished. Everyone knows that Lucius Malfoy "donated" a part of his possession to by himself a clean slate. "

The both other healers agreed nodding. "I heard some more about this" reported a smaller one avidly. "He agreed to testify against his former death-eater friends."

He burst out laughing bitterly "But they didn't tell him against whom he will have to testify. Want to bet? I guess he's gonna be scared shitless when he's appearing before the court and sees our patient-x marching in." all three men laughed and even Hermione could not deny herself an evil grin.

She did not now why, maybe to cope with the oppressive silentness in the dreary room, but as she washed him, she told him (more to herself as to him) about the overheard conversation of the healers.  
He still stared numbly out of the window (Everytime she was with him she turned his head in this direction, because she had the impression that he liked it to look there.) No reaction from him.

He really had to be mentally unapproachable. Lucius Malfoy who managed it anew to buy his way out of prison away, using betrayal, lots of hocus-pocus and lame excuses… this should this make him pretty angry actually.

Hermione meanwhile mastered the necessary handholds a bit better. Meanwhile she felt less fear.

Slowly but surely she was able to breath when she was in his room, at least when the trellised window was opened. But still, nothing came from him. Not a minimal reaction, not the slightest hint that could proof he noticed her attendance.

The only reaction was, and Hermione was privily proud about this, that his skin did not show signs of dehydration any longer.

In her free time, she haunted all the libraries in London to escape from her loneliness. If she took this task seriously, she could do something that made sense. To read handbooks about basal stimulation, or other techniques to therapy vegetative patients, for example. Muggle-Books of course, but what she'd read appeared to be useful, so why shouldn't she try it?

The thought of Voldemorts trial amused her. Yes, she would go there too. Just to see Narcissa, Lucius and of course, Draco Malfoy fainting with shock, when they had this unhoped-for date with Lord Voldemort.

Yes, and when they'd have to stand the dark lords evil eye, while they stood before the wizzengamot there they had do betray their former master all along the line… otherwise; they would have to spend the rest of their life in Azkaban. Well, IF he would be able by then to have the evil eye. But she´d plenty of time until then and so she brushed these misgivings aside.

At her breakfast next morning, she already saw the news because the daily prophet reported about the upcoming trail. Of course, Lucius Malfoy was not the only one who was accused to be a death-eater. And of course,… lots of death-eaters were not on the list Accused-list she read in the report about. But anyhow, the Malfoys process came first and such famous people like them was grist on Rita Skeeters (yes, now she was back too)

Hermione would have been very grateful; if anyone had told her then Lord Voldemorts Process would start. Helen said something about the end of September. Well, now it was May… who knew if he was still alive then? Probably he would, Hermione answered to herself… he seemed to do better.

Like every day, she did not see neither Healers nor other nurses on Voldemorts bed. Sometime she started to tell him about the report she read in the daily prophet. Not that he would listen to this, but her sage books told her softly speeches would function stimulating to his brain. However, was he brain damaged or captured in a stupor?

Not matter…she had to massage his hands (and was rather proud on herself because she endured it to move this bony, spider-like fingers for more than two minutes), after she bent and stretched his legs and arms. A bit of gymnastics could not wreak havoc, couldn't it? Nevertheless, who would care about it if it were this way? No one.

Although she took the gymnastics today, she was earlier finished than the days before. In fact, only two hours… she got better. Yes,…she was so proud on herself to stand this job every day, and to get better in doing it, that she now dared to turn her back on as she walked out, for the first time. She turned to the door and went whistled a jolly song while she rattled to the door.

„I know you. You're the mudblood that was on the way with Harry Potter and that knows it all better. Severus told me about you." Sounded the dark lords dreadful cold, clear voice behind her.

With a strepitous scream, Hermione keeled headfirst on the trolley, and pushed it along with herself loud roughhousing over. Full of panic she spun around und stared to the

Tremendousness, which lurked over there.

Lord Voldemort had turned his head to her and had a dismissive and moderate interested look down at her, sitting and wincing on the ground floor. "You will get me a newspaper tomorrow, mudblood. Now go."

With a quiet whimper, actually without wanting it, she nodded obedient and jumped up. A hectically wave with the wand and the plumped down objects sailed as fast as the hospital-wand was able to do, back on the trolley whom with Hermione walked, no rushed, as fast as possible, out of the room. So fast, she smashed with a loud crack against the wall because had no time to turn the trolley around the corner when she hasted out.

LET'S GET OUT OF HERE! IT´S ALIVE

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**R & R please...**_and make me feel glad :o)_

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	7. Psychological Terror

**BTEA: WANTED!**

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**Chapter 7: Psychological Terror**

Gasping and heavily breathing Hermione reached the hospital-exit to get out-of-doors finally. Always looking behind her, if nobody followed her… if HE did not follow her. It took her three tries to get really out of the hospital. Two times she head to return as she tried was rushing out, because she firstly still had the hospital-wand in her hands and secondly, still wore the nurse-clock. But now she finally made it und to achieve the fresh open air there she could breathe deeply while the doors slammed behind her.

Cold, fresh air flowed threw her lunges, every breath she took made her sanity come clearer, smoothed the way for the up sliding fear that crawled inside her brain and whispered to her, terribly cold ad frightening was this voice, that the really bad part of her life had right now begun.

By now, St.Mungo´s looked like an old warehouse again. Now she saw it, as the muggles saw it…who did not know what was kept away behind these ruinous doors.

xXx

When Hermione came home, she was not able to do something else than crying and sleeping. How much she missed her friends right now, no matter what they've said or done... how gruesome it was, not to be allowed to tell about her job. Although she stayed in bed from 18h till 8h the next morning, she had never felt so drained in her whole life. Never wanted to do something as less as going into this hospital again, than crossing this floors, walking down this stairs…to him.

When the aurors saw her walking down the corridor, they smirked. "You´d been so fast yesterday. Didn't you enjoy your work? "asked the first one, who stood on the right side of the door her, and smiled to the man beside him, who continued „Well, we could help you to enjoy your time here… all you have to do is to say a word an we could go to…distract you. Come on…it's so lonely here." His head nodded into the stockrooms direction. These aurors were young, in their twenties and they were bored because nothing dangerous happened… so they killed time by excogitating and saying salacious remarks to Hermione.

Pale as Hermione was, they thought she was just a bashful wallflower and they burst out laughing than they accessorily noticed how tremulous she was. Hermione stared straight ahead, as she passed toe door and entered the room, swallowed as the sneering room behind her died away because the door was closed…

Somehow she had the faintly hope that the last episode of her job yesterday was ascribable to a schizophrenic shove, but this hope died as the last bang of the slamming door faded away and another noise, cold, cruel and contemptuous echoed from the walls.

"You again." The man who spoke, one moment before he had stared out of the window but now turned his head to her, was a indubitable awake." It seems they send you every day. I suppose this shall be a part of my punishment. Isn't it?"

Lord Voldemort consented to have a closer look at her, until his imperious glance bored itself into her eyes. A glance that made her shrinking from second to second, until she was as little as a mouse. She was not just as small as a mouse, she even sounded as a mouse when she squeaked a question. "Since when you are…awake again? I thought you wouldn't notice anything."

"You only have to talk, when you're asked something, mudblood." ordered the Lords masterful voice. She doesn't seemed to bet interesting to him any longer, so he looked anew out of the window, as he continued in a now lackadaisical tone. "Why should I have messed around with you?" clarified the thin man, who yesterday still appeared to be helpless. Hermione discerned, that the expression of malice in his face vanished a short moment for confusion. "I believe…for two days now. I remember to have seen you the day before yesterday. " Voldemort grimaced exerted for a few seconds, but when he commanded as clear and cold his voice has ever sounded. "Well, enough about that. Have you brought along the newspaper, mudblood?"

And because mice are smaller, more defenceless and harmless as snakes, Hermione couldn't help pulling the newspaper out of her clock compliantly, and sitting beside him… a bit further away as usual.

Actually she should wash him now, do gymnastic exercises with him and afterwards she would have had to feed him, but... impossible. Hermione was no match for so much arrogance, self-esteem and dominance.

As if she had no own will at all, as if she was put under the imperious-curse, she had to follow his barked orders unresisting.

So she said down und started the read, while she tried to fill some mineralwater in him at the same time.

Apart from the reading, she was not allowed to open her mouth. Well, so she did what she was allowed to, but her hands trembled that much, so she almost spilled the whole mineralewater above him. The way he called her mudblood, called her dumb and useless after this was spoken with so much hatred in the voice she nether had heard it before. Not really something to appease her again…

But he was angry anyway. As he heard about Lucius, he spitted one contemptibly „Lucius"or „pah´s" after another out. The way he spoke the name of his ex-follower appeared to her, as if he would regard Mr. Malfoy as a contagious disease. He commented the ensuing article about Harry Potter with a look that let assume that a pride of cockroaches had just crawled across his face.

„Your friends, stupid children who let themselves celebrate for something they had never done. "he laughed bitterly and told her his opinion on Harrys behaviour and doings during the Hogwarts-Battle.

„Weakly, maudlinly and predictable. That´s Harry Potter. And you" he allowed here to have a look at his hatred-distorted face "you are even lesser. You are nothing but dirt, mudblood, because you followed him. Now, give me something to drink, I'm thirsty. Hopefully you are useful for this at least," he commanded.

Hermione wanted to protest, wanted to answer back or to tell him, she was the only reason why he was still alive… but…no words came out of her mouth. Therefore, she kept quiet while she stated to feel sick as she thought on the other things she had to do for him later on.

But Voldemort had also other interests. After he told her she was too dumb to do even simply care handholds (he permitted her to wash him) and Hermione stopped for a while because she was exhausted and frozen in fear, he asked her a question that must have been a heavy burden to him. "Am I in a hospital or in a prison? This is not Azkaban…"

Hermione grasped the flannel back that lay in the washbowl on the trolley and went on soaping his chest. Didn´t dare to glance at his inhuman eyes. "It´s St. Mungo´s. You were too weak for Azkaban. "

A high, cold laugh made her feel like a little child in a dark cellar. "Well, therefore they sent you to care for me. YOU? A mudblood? The new minister must feel strongly about abasing me." Hermione shrugged, bit in her underlip and tried to think of her parents, as she had to swaddle him. And the whole time he gazed at her if he had wished to have a fly swatter to kill the incommodiously insect.

Hermione was a clever, faithful and kind-hearted, but the last rest of her Gryffindor-courage was washed away by the moment she first heard him talking in the sickroom. She just did not know how to fight against a man she actually had to protect. But the trace of sympathy she felt in the last few days was sunken in a moor of nauseation, fear and hatred.

Still she had to keep him alive, more than this…this was paradox. Two mutually excluding tasks, which robbed her all so far learned action strategies.

It was terrible to be treated like this, but an aura of might and pride emanated from Voldemort and poor Hermione had nothing to subtend against this.

The job took her three hours today, more hours more than yesterday…because she was so nervous, fearful. Nether knowing if she should run away, ignore his hateful takings or if she really was as clumsy as he told her all these hours.

Her wand fell down to earth when she tried to give the opening-signal to the door. Voldemort saw it laughed at her. Yes, HE really execrated her. Hermione swallowed, took her wand and said so muted he might hadn't heard it, that she would come back tomorrow at 10h.

Before her working day, she had been up to go to the swimming bath in the afternoon, but by now all she could do was to go to bed and fear the next day. With him.

As the week went by, she developed a panicky fear above all what had remembered her to her job. One time she brook out in hysterical tears, as she saw a picture of a zoo-snake on a placard.

Not that she had expected him to treat her in another way. Nevertheless, solely because his behaviour was in line with his world-view, it became more bearable to her in no way.

Where was the Gryffindor-courage, as she needed it at the most? Why she put up with everything? It was his limitless self-assurance and superiority. This was not the blonde Draco Malfoy, who parroted insults he'd learned by rote. The dark lord did not insult her. Not in his eyes…

He told her truths about mudbloods in general and herself in particular. He was better as every Dementor in spreading fear. All the stories which there told about him, all the wild rumours about his skills and powers…and he deeply enjoyed her fright.

It was a shock. He had been an omnipresent danger for years. A danger only a man like Dumbledore was capable to fight against. But Dumbledore was dead…dead because the dark lord ordered it.

Hermione felt ashamed for her weakness. Felt ashamed for becoming his will-less slave. In addition, she was so lonely, despaired and overstrained with the situation.

It was awful enough that she was untrained but still had to take care for a critically ill man. Nevertheless, definitely she would have managed to do so. However, why this ill man had to be exactly the slaughterman they (Harry, Ron and she) had been trying to kill in the last year? This was to bizarre to unterstand it.

Still he appeared dangerous and evil…but, what she was bound to do now?

In former times, this question was easy to answer. Voldemort was evil and so they there obliged to destroy him. But now she had to take care for him, still he was weak, thin and infirm.

Even though she had a wand and he not, she felt unprotected. And he, the exceptionally gifted Legilimens was an expert in frightening people. Moreover, he was an expert to make them feel smaller as every mouse, running away from a cat. She´d needed her friends, needed some around her by her side, needed a sorrow dust bin to throw all her self-doubts in it.

However, Lord Voldemorts was the only one around her who talked to her every day…and every day he told her how useless, stupid and repulsive she, the mudblood, was. If there had been only one person (except from Helen, but she did not see her all too often often) around her who told her that he wasn't right… Therefore, he denominated the new situation. He, the Lord. And Hermione, his servant.

When she was with him, his dismissive gazes at her nearly torn her apart. When she was free, her thought her still captured in this cold, dreary and frightening dungeon. Maybe it would help then she did her very best, read even more books to learn. Maybe he would stop to call her incapable and sordid. Bit this day never came. And so Hermione was nothing more than a lifeless hull, moved to nod by his will and his power over her.

Every day she brought along the newspaper and read it to him. Every day she followed all of the orders he threw to her so bitterly, as if she was the lowest creature on earth. Once more Hermione thought about how bitter life had to be for house elfes, she even felt sympathy for the Wormtail… However, even house-efles were better treated, as she was treated from him. That she still had to wash, feed or swaddle him, retracted his pride not in a slightest.

Never was he content with what she did. Always she kept in her mind what he might was able to do to her…if she would not do what he told her. Gryffindor-Courage…blown away. Yes, she really had become wormtail.

Nether gainsaid him, nether said something at all…because he did not allow her to speak. He was terribly amused then he called her wiseacres who had no decency to feel ashamed for her mudbloodness. In his opinion, she was a shame since she was born and she should accept she was no real which and would be better off with the other muggles…the other working animals.

His anew failure against Harry Potter was because of his own inobservance. After all, he discerned this rightly. Bit this proofed again, that this foolish, little students were utterly unworthy of his attention… apart from his plan to kill them.

Well, this day was like all the days before and he only allowed her to her his voice because he gave free rain to his scornfulness. Hermione…washed him. This was even more unpleasant than before because the bedsore had become more, were bleeding and a bad smell irrupted her nose. Regrettably, she was really to blame for this. Since he was awake, she almost did not dare to touch him. Especially not in the pubic area. But now he was bleeding and she had to put some of the wound-paste on him.

The water was really dirty today…muddy from excrements and dried blood. She just was up to bring new water as he snapped at her angrily. "Look what you have done mudblood. I'm bleeding. Don't you recognize bedsores when they are directly before your eyes? Do you know what pains I have to suffer? Do I have to prompt you everything?

Fulfilled wit shame, Hermione shook her head, "No, I'm sorry. I'm going to get the salves for you."

Voldemort shook his head disgusted. "Mudbloods. No matter if some people say you are as intelligent as we are, all I have to do is to look at you and I know how afar this is from the truth. Even though your parents are muggle-healers themselves, aren't they? Nevertheless, you learned nothing at all. Well, probably it's not your fault, what could you have learned from such bad examples?" his voice was cold, harsh and merciless.

She had often tried to ignore such insults, but this time she could help herself to ask him. "How do you know my patents are doctors?" an abysmally evil smile spread out on his skull-like face. "Did you really believe that your ridiculous little games from the last year could mislead us? You are probably aware with this address. Melbourne, St. Michaels Street, 14? I guess you´ve heard it before… Me too. Did you know my death-eaters watched your parents? If the battle had been a few days later, you're filthy muggle-parents could have been waiting for you on the other side."

Hermione stopped from breathing, unable to breathe, to move, to feel or the think. But only a short moment. He knew her parents address? Planed to kill them, although she manipulated their memory and sent them away to another continent? After she broke the contact to them. And now, this murderer sat in front of her and revealed to her that he and the death-eaters had known this all of the time? Planned to kill them, just because it was fun to shock Harry and his friends, because Lord Voldemort knew Harry could not square it with his conscience to know, innocent people were died for him.

Hermione Granger was a good, friendly and diplomatic young woman. She acquiesced in to much. Was sometimes to fair and friendly, let herself short-change. But Voldemort

exceeded this limit of what Hermione was able to take when he mentioned her parents address in Australia.

She´d never known how loud she was able to scream. A shout, no words…first she found no words. Everything she was able to do was to roar as loud as if ten dragons together might have been screaming.

Hermione grabbed to dirty flannel and beat it into his face sloshy . All the pent-up anger and hate burst out of her like blazing-hot lava during the volcanic eruption.

Ever and ever again, she battered his face. It was…liberating. A storming feeling imparted her so far unknown powers. She took the washbowl and upended the stinking broth about him.

But, well…sometime, the words found came back and found their way from her mind to her mouth.

"WHO IST FILTHY NOW? YOU UNGRATEFUL, DISGUSTING PIG!" she yelled at him and spit on his face. She jumped up from the place he had assigned to her. Slapped all things on the trolley and marched straight ahead to the door. However, she was not finished. Not, as she saw him still grinning as dismissive as before. Gerade setzte er an, um wieder eine Beleidigung gegen sie loszuschleudern, da brach Hermines Wut endgültig wie glühende Lava aus einem Vulkan heraus. Now was the time to teach him some lessons, to tell him some truths about HIS situation.

"YOU KNOW WHAT? DO YOU KNOW WHAT IS STANDING BEHIND THIS DOOR AND WAITING FOR YOU? A COFFIN. THE FIRST THING THEY DID AFTER THE BATTLE WAS TO SIZE HOW TALL YOU ARE TO MAKE SURE THAT YOU SLOT INTO THE COFFIN!

THE ONLY REASION WHY YOU ARE STILL ALIVE IS MY LOUSY NURSING FOR YOU! NO ONE IN THIS WHOLE HOSPITAL WOULD NOTICE IT FOR WEEKS IF YOU WOULD DIE! AND YOU WILL DIE! I CAN HARDLY WAIT FOR YOUR EXECUSION!

AND THE ONLY REASION WHY I TAKE THIS IS BECAUSE I WANT TO GIVE YOUR VICTIMS THE CHANCE TO LAUGHE ABOUT YOU AND TO SPIT ON YOU DURING YOUR TRIAL!

YOUR LYING ON THE SHAMBLES; MAN! THE DAY OF YOUR DEATH IS FIXED! THE ONLIEST WAY YOU ARE STILL ALLOWED TO WAK ON YOUT OWN IS WHEN YOU'RE ASCENDING THE SCAFOLLD!"

The door opened and Hermione, the volcano, burst out of the chamber. The last thing she saw before the door banged behind her was that the malice in Voldemorts face was given away to unlimited horror. How she enjoyed this sight. Storming…definitely. Well, of course no coffin stood around in this corridor. However, the dramatic of her monologue demanded it. Anyway, it was right that they sized him to see if the coffin was big enough…

The lump in her throat, the fear in her heart and the anger in her fervid blood… all these afflictions were gone. Well, except from the anger, but she felt better now. So good, she sang a little song as she left the hospital. Her throat was free now. She would never lump it again. This was finally over.

And the day became even better. First, she went to all libraries she had been to get rid off the care backs she had lent. She had enough more important books to read for the next school year. So why she should waste only a second on this monsters problems? In addition, there were so many other interesting books, useful books…which had nothing do to with medical or psychological questions. Hermione looked forward to read them tonight as she jumped the stairs to her room in the Leaky Cauldron. And then…

RON! Ron sat with a half-empty bottle of butterbeer in his hands in front of her door and waited for her return. The cheerful screaming girl dumped all the books in her hands and stared at him.

Ron smiled a bit abashed, ruffled his red her and looked downwards to his toes. "Where have you been? I'm waiting here for hours…".

Hermione was still numb, she wanted to jump into his arms… but he was about to say something and she really wanted to hear this. "I know looks as if I overdid it." He scratched himself ashamed on his ear as she dared to at glance at her. How cute he was, as he stood there and searched for an apology. "Well you know, I'm… ".

He did not come any further because now Hermione ran to him and embosomed him. "Oh Ron…" was all she said before she overwhelmed him with kisses. Butt his time Ron appeared to be honest to her, wanted her to hear the end of his apology indeed, while he seemed to glow from his shock of hair to his toes as red as hazard warning lights.

"Well… in such things you're always right and so I admit my defeat. And you…you shall know that I trust in your sentence on this…man. You surly know what you do…"

This was just too splendiferous. She couldn't help herself from hugging and snuggled him until he couldn't burke an "OUCH!"

Ron smiled at her and petted her brown curls, but then a shadow scurried over his eyes. "But this is not easy for me. You can do whatever you want. I trust in you. But I don't want to know anything about your job. Just don't tell me…then is everything all right to me, okay?" Sure this was okay to her… everything was fine now. Well, almost everything.

Ron was the whole afternoon with her. They went holding hands in the zoo, ate an indecent big ice at Florean Fortescue´s Ice Cream Parlour and in the evening they visited Harry, who now actually moved into the house at the grimmauldplace. Kreacher was with him and he cosseted the three reunited friends with a four-course meal.

Apparently, Ron hat forewarned Harry, because his mentioned the clash with not one single word. The boys seemed to be relieved because they believed that Hermione had surmounted her Voldemort-fad. She just did her work with some nameless death-eater.

Ron even abided with her for the whole night and slept there…with her. Sure, he told Mrs. Weasley he would with Harry for the night. (Mr. Weasley, so she thought, knew the truth…but Mr. Weasley hadn't targeted to rear to most unisexual children on the planet).

How wonderful it was to lie in his arms. After they slept together, they hugged, fondled and kissed each other. Hermione had missed this so much, missed him, missed friendly words… and then, they slept together anew. All was well…

But Ron had to go on the next morning and she was alone again. Well, only a few days…until he would manage it to escape from his mother again.

But she was lucky, so lucky she was self-assured enough to ignore the things she actually had to do between 10h and 16h. Lucky und relieved…so she preferred to meet Luna and Ginny in the Diagon Alley and to discuss the new situation in the school, in the country and the process against the Malfoys with them. Too bad, Claris was ill. The poor dragon might had swallowed too much of her own poison …and reported herself sick for the rest of the week.

Hermione was not only happy about because she now had to deliver and receive her own and the hospital-wand from somebody else, not…this also meant she had to deliver her report not before the next Monday. Therefore, she decided not to go to him.

Who would notice it? Nobody…nobody at all. They would all think that she came/left during the other shift resided. No one, except from her, would look after him. Moreover, she did not feel like looking after him. He could use this time to lay think about his infamous actions. Right.

Whereas a little, quiet voice in her head asked her, if she shouldn't go to him all the same. Her conscientiousness was not easy to ignore… but still…it was easier to ignore her bad conscience then sustaining this evil creature again.

Moreover, Hermione was the best student in her age-group in Hogwarts, one of the best students for years. Read nearly every book the Hogwarts-library could offer. She was the favourite Student off all teachers (well, probably expect from Snape )… Admittedly she couldn't keep up with a wizard like Lord Voldemort, but even a deaf-mute-blind Man should notice that she was a gifted witch. How could he dare to call her dumb and incapably though it was so obvious she was so much better than all the other people in her age?

To ridicule her this much did not just appeal to her honour, it was simply dumb. That he threatened her parents in addition was unimproved too.

xXx

In the afternoon Hermione set about to write her report for Claris. She was still dealing with her bad conscious and so she sat down to write about her afternoon with him. Although she did not feel like doing this. Although she did not feel like admitting, she had helped him more than she should. However, no matter, that was over now. By now, she could acknowledge everything what she had done for him….because she never would do something like this again. And if they would fire her? Fine… so much the better.

Foaming and burning with anger, she drowned her pinfeather in the inkblood-pot to write cruel death-threats on the parchment…at least this was what she felt about it. No, in fact she stuck was much to the facts as she was still able to do. But as she went on writing on thinking of him, the anger inside her made her gestures as agitated and uncontrolled , so that she looked as if she was trying to stab him with the pinfeather.

Sometime she rammed the feather so hard on the parchment that it ripped. Oh no…now she had to start over again. The anger burned hot and hotter in her, as she had to stand up to get herself another parchment. Why did she bother with this cretinism? In fact, she really wished that Claris would dismiss her. Yes of course, she would miss the money…but, stuff it. She could stay with her parents till the school-start, or with the Weasleys (even though it was no pleasure to think of four whole months with her "mother-in-law"). No one needed this job… But even Mrs Weasley during her washday could not be worse than one further minute with this man.

Writing everything again…because of him. Quarrel with her friends…because of him, nearly a break up with Ron…because of him. A mad massmurderer who wasn't worth to kiss her feet.

Her breathed intermitted, she almost snarled, as she perused the destructed parchment. The expression of his as she left… PAH! She wouldn't fell for him again.

Without a defined intention, her view fell to the last line she'd wrote for Claris. "Appeared to be appalled, as he was adverted to his execution."

Hermione turned pale, the pinfeather in her hand trembled and she felt sick. Voldemort fell in a coma when the curse caught him, when he woke up he still did not get was happening around, because he paused in a state of shock…how much did he now?

Almost nothing!

This was why he wanted to get a newspaper. No one talked to him. He knew nothing about the denouement of the battle, did not know what happened to the rest of his death-eaters, about the Malfoys…about his foes, did not now who the new minister was…he knew nothing as he woke up.

And he definitely did not know what would happen to him now.

And no one deemed it necessary to tell him about his forthcoming execution.

But was did he believe what they would do with him? That they would put him in a secrete prison like Grindelwald? He could not have believed this in all seriousness. Yes, of course! He believed this because he wanted to believe it… He, who feared the death more than any other person she knew, probably fooled himself with this appeasing lie. Because otherwise he would, crack up… or he would fell back in the stupor perhaps.

And she told him about an inexistent coffin behind his door, that his time was over and teased him with hi ending life.

Not she what she felt sorry for him or for his death…nevertheless…

Hermione Granger was a clever, nice girl. Always trying to be kind and to deal fairly, it was no fun to her to tease other people with their worst existential fears. But yesterday she did…made fun of the death of another person and enjoyed it, made him eat it…

Up to now, Hermione never had been cruel, but yesterday she was…she'd been abysmally cruel.

A decent fellow had broken this gently to him. But was he not the same? Wasn't it right to pay him eye for an eye back? Such things stood handbooks about senseless wars. If she would win this morally battle, then in another way.

Deeply saddened she dove the pinfeather in the inkpot and decided once more to reflect the occurrences of the last day filtered and sugar-coated. This time, because she felt ashamed of herself.

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**_Reviews?_**


	8. Hermiones War

**Beta: Wanted! **_(and needed)_

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**Chapter eight: Hermiones War**

Hermione rushed with decided paces through the corridors of St.MUngo´s. After she thought about the way she told him about his death, she could not help herself to have a bad conscious. Hermione would not take sitting down this; it should be cleared up…

So, Contrary to her yesterdays intention, Hermione went to look after Voldemort, again. Nevertheless, things would change now… Right, who was she after all? His servant? Absolutely NOT!

She was not as cowardly and Wormtail and not as subserviently as Bellatrix Lestrange. Definitely, she was not Bellatrix, Hermione shivered as she thought about the way Bellatrix had used to adore this disgusting man.

And Wormtail? He also had to take care for him, when Voldemort was this baby-like-creature before his return. Wormtail did this, because he had no other place to go. However, that was not the same for Hermione. Was able and allowed to go and to stay wheresoever she wanted to.

Only because the death-eaters treated him like a god, he was not one and she did not have to follow suit. No, now it was time to show same Gryffindor-Courage.

Yes, Hermione arranged a strategy to bring him back down to earth, to tell him some facts about who she was, and who he was not.

He was NOT her Master, and she was not his Servant. He was her "prisoner", of course also her patient. And above all, he was completely reliant on her. Therefore he shoud show her respect. A new worldorder would govern this room. Her on the top, he…somewhere down below.

When Hermione entered the room, she could have been almost crying as she saw the pitiable sight, which was presented to her. Still completely naked, the bony man appeared to be as numb and apathetic as on her first working-day. Moreover, his skin was dyed in a slight blue tone because of the coldness in the room, and he was awfully dirty. The flannel she battered him into his face, still lay side-slipped on his shoulder. The pillow and the mattress were splodgy because of the filthy brew she'd doused over him. The bedspread lay straightened up on the chair beside him.

And because he could not move himself, wore no diaper and lay like this for about two days… the bed looked like this. Not only that a awful smell had dispread in the room, the bed seemed to be soaking wet.

Anew she felt a trace of sympathy rising inside her, but she had to dissemble such thoughts if she wanted to go to this war.

Stamping as loud as a whole regiment, she came nearer, planted herself in front of his bed with arms akimbo. That looked not half as awe-inspiring as she had planned it, even so she'd trained to look like Sergant-Claris it in front of her mirror at home. No matter, she had just begun. To become more frightening, she put on a rehearsed cloudy face that surely had brought even Progessor McGonagal to hide under the next table, for fear.

The voice, at the beginning still a bit quiet, but constantly louder rising as she got more confident by talking on, Hermione started her lecture. "I know perfectly well you´re hearing me. Will you kindly look at me when I'm talking to you?"

No reaction at the first, but then, only for a short moment, the eyes seemed to look into her direction, before they turned back to the window. Hermione approached closer till she stood so closed to the bed that her waist disappeared behind the food of the bed.

"All right. I want to apologise myself". Now he couldn't help himself, his head twitched towards her automatically. He appeared to be astonished, but the expression of his face froze within seconds, while his gazes turned their attention back to the window again.

„I shouldn't have to let you lie there this way. And it was simply unfair and cruel that I left you alone yesterday, because I knew very well that you'd needed help. I won't do this anymore." Hermione took a deep breath and took heart for the next sentence. "And I'm dreadfully sorry you had to learn about your execution that way. I hadn't reflected if anyone ever told you about that before." apologised Hermione, who managed to preserve her poise, indeed. Hermione waited if this would have an effect on him. A bit more nervous, Hermione started to seesaw back and forth on her soles. This caused a clacking noise, which reminded her of a rocking-chair, or of the tick-tock from a time-bomb.

Tick-Tock.

Nothing happened.

Tick-Tock.

Voldemorts curled his lips and the red flamy coals in his face caught her brown, a little desiccated by the excreted staring, eyes.

Tick-Tock. Hermione stopped the seesawing and waited the timebomb to explode.

Overbearing and not a slightest hint of shame in his face, he nodded to her shortly. "All right, then." Was everything what the self-aggrandisingness in person wanted to reply to this.

Nearly loosing her poise, Hermione had to cling to the food of the bed to press the anger she felt out of her, into the bars. Hardly trying not to rip one of the bars out and beating it on his head.

She had resolved to stay calm, as she exercised her performance in the morning.

But nevertheless. All right…and further? Was that everything? Didn't he stroke to the idea that he might have had to apologise his outrageous behaviour too? No, a Lord had never to apologise himself, it was clear what he thought. But he could show something like relief because she came back, at least.

But then…his sight was so wretchedly. Hermione thought on the man he once used to be…a few weeks ago. And now…lonely, weak and ill. Always his own death kept in mind, the death he feared so much…hated by the whole world… no one would ever come to get him out of here again. No one, but the executioners who were already waiting for him. And all he could do was to think about that day in, day out. To think about he had lost everything what was imporent to him.

He was already beaten, shattered and prostrated. Was it necessary to retaliate at all? Yes sure, he'd done this (and he surly did in past) in any case…but she was not him. It was not in her to humble other people this much.

Nevertheless, she should not get off scot-free. Not for nothing, she had exercised the severest face Snape put ever on for more than three hours yesterday.

„One thing has to be clear. I will not put up with everything any longer. If I shall help you, then you must say "please" and "thank you" from now on. Resign to the fact that you need me. I´m no skilled nurse, I'm only here with you, not in the least voluntary, to disburden the personnel. Because after YOUR WAR." And her forefinger pointed even more dangerous as the once by him robbed Elder-Wand "they cannot cope with their work. If I'm a bit inexpertly, then you have to exercise patience. I do talk whenever I like and about whatever I want to. AND…"anew Hermione had to breathe deeply to forearm herself for what was coming now."I will never ever, and under no circumstances, call you My Lord and least of all Master. Do you get me?"

He looked at her half amused, half-sneering. Nothing seemed to impact on him. But he was calm and listened to her.

"If I address you, I will call you from now on Tom." A portentous glow flamed up in his red eyes after all. If looks could kill, Hermione were dropped dead here and now. She was somehow amused and frightened at the same by this, because she could almost watch how the plans-to-murder polluted around his head like ivy at the walls of old castles.

But Hermione went on to lecture him. "If you hate your first name all too much, I don't mind to call you Mr. Riddle. But to no time Lord Voldemort. Lord Voldemort is not longer existing. You are vanquished all along the line. Only to make sure that you got this right. I want you to take a little care, only the slightest bit, in getting along with me. We both have to stand each other on nearly ever single day in the next months. Something has to come from your side to make it more bearable to us. But if you should ever insult me again as you did it two days ago, then…" anew Hermiones forefinger rocket upwards and wagged minatory through the air, as if Voldemort had been a six your old boy who refused to tidy his room "I go and let you simply lie here. Is that clear?" the sneering expression in his face was given away to anger and bitterness. He compressed his lips, narrowed his eyes and bristled with anger.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and looked down on him in a vanquisher-pose. "Okay, then we are agreed. And if you are a good boy" now Hermione was struck by a glance which would had driven even marble statues to suicide, with fear "then I have something for you later on."

Hermione walked away from him, a superior smile in the face, to bring the left-behind trolley. Maybe she should go back to put him her foot on the chest. Hehehe…

For a few seconds was a dead silentness in the room. If he indented to be silent for the rest of his life? Ha, why not, Hermione thought triumphant. He would see what he would get from that.

But then sounded the well-known cold, dismissive voice of Lord Voldemort to her ears. "Clean me up. I don't want to lie here in the dirt. And I need something to drink, I'm very thirsty." Needless to say, the voice sounded roughly, his mouth was surely parched. Of course, without water for do days… Hermione turned around and looked expectant at him. As if would cause him terrible, corporal pains, he screwed his mouth and gagged a pressed "Please" out.

Hermione had to turn around very fast to hide her contentedly smile. But fast she managed to keep her poise. As she came back with the washbowl in the hands to clean him up, he shook his head energetically. "No, i´m really thirsty." Ruefulness creeped over her by his sight. Two days without water, of course it was more important to him to drink something. She deposited the heavy bowl and ignored the cold water that swashed over the edge on her feet, sat herself next to him on the bed and put the mineral water bottle on his lips, so he could drink something. And he did so, greedy and immediately. Much to fast so that chocked and coughed.

Tears came in his eyes, he almost unable to breathe he could not calm himself.

He was surely terrible embarrassed about his state. Dirty, helpless and still…completely naked.

Bit he didn't about how he looked, smelled or what had became of him, he was only a man who was petrified because he'd thought would have to die of thirst. The bottle was fast emptied. He drank the second one as fast as the first one. But ever more hastily and more greedy as the first one. Anew he chocked on the water so that he was shaken by a violent fit of coughing. He was unable to calm himself, his face turned red, tears came into his eyes and he stertoroused asphyxiating noises. Hermione grabbed the thin, white shoulders, heaved him up till he could sit

and slapped him in his back so he could cough out the liquid again. "It´s all right. I'm with you." Glaring red in the face with shame, she felt terribly ridiculous as she patted his back calming, lay him back in the pillows and gave him the rest of the mineral water to drink. As she continued to speak, her voice sounded warm and motherly. "I told you I'll take care for you. But you must never call me mudblood again and I never want to her evil words about muggles. Particularly not about my parents. Yes?"

He was not gainsaying and so Hermione graded his silence as a sign of agreement. She sighed and nodded her head, swept a brown curl away from her forehead and stood up. "Well, then we clean you up now."

Almost she had felt ashamed of herself because she now even infantilised this lunatic. He was no baby, so why she treated him this way? But how she had to behave else? He´d been a sinister menace for years. A menace without a face. In this former time, it had been easier to answer such questions…but now? Oh yes, Claris had found a perfect way to punish the young Gryffindorgirl for her reputed haughtiness.

Hermione had to fight an inner battle. A battle of four armies was broken out inside her.

The first army fought against Lord Voldemorts who planned to kill or enslave Harry, Muggles and if it would stand in his way, the rest of the world too. This army fought for the secureness of her own existence. It defended the good against the evil.

The second army fought for a needy creature who would not survive without help. This army fought for humanity and sympathy.

The third army defended Hermione against the assaults of the very creature. This army had to tame the evil thing inside this sickroom. So this army fought for her own well-being so that she would not disintegrated inwardly.

The fourth and last army had the worst battle-position. Because this army, after it tamed the creature, made them both familiar to each other and after it had taken care for it, yes…after all this, this army would one day have to turn him in to his executers.  
All what she was fighting for would be destroyed by this army in early October. Maybe this army could get together with the first of her armies. But the terror figure these armies were in war with, was not the same person she saw when she looked down on the bed besides her. So the fourth army was the lunacy. Somehow the most honest of all her inner warriors, because those soldiers told her that it didn't matter what ever she would do, she would loose on every single way she could be about to go. How could a single person cope with so many oppositional tasks and how should hearth stand so many contradictorily feeling without bursting?

And ever worse, the young, small, brown haired girl did not know if her heart would burst with joy or with sorrow.

Hermione looked at him closely as she thought about her contradictorily tasks. He was so dirty and the bed too, she had to get him out of his couch to expurgate them both. But it was so unpractical to wash him on the chair or in the bed. No…but, where else?

Her big brown eyes rambled through the room to find something useful. The room was almost empty. Of course, no pictures, posters and decorations to detract from the dreary atmosphere of the muddy grey stone walls. Here and there hung candleholders so that the muddy grey colour in which this room was painted was supplemented by soot-blacked stains, which spread themselves out around the candles. On the left side of the room, the door side was a toilette in the sternmost corner. A folded up folding screen was carelessly lent against the wall. Besides this toilette and on the other side of the room, the side were Hermione stood next to her Patient, were washbasins. On the right side of the room were three little window which had the height and the form of shoe-cartons. Voldemorts bed was near the first window. If he looked straight ahead, he could see an old cast iron bathtub. Black stress marks on the white flaggins proofed that the bed must have been standing in the middle of this room side before. Undoubtedly, they pushed it to the right so have always had the look at the bathtub he wasn't allowed to use. The personnel was resourcefully in torture-methods.

He was quiet simply to dirty to wash him with a flannel. It would be so much easier if she could sit him in the thumb to wash him up with the onmounted showerhead. Afterwards she could let the tab run to fill water in the tub, and while she cleaned the bed, he could soak in the bathtub. Good idea…but how to get him in the tub? Was it really forbidden to her to wash him in the washtub? Probably, it was not allowed so show him so much kindness to him. Maybe…but she did not care about this because it was much too unpractical to do in on another way.

But how to get him there? Apparte? Definitely not…that was neither allowed nor possible. She looked around, but no wheelchair or something like that were standing around in the room. Of course not, he should stay in this bed for the rest of his life.

Although he was so skinny and thin, he was still too tall to hump him there. Maybe…only perhaps…even it was not allowed he could…walk the washtub. Helen showed her how the banns were laid on him, which lamed him. She knew how to take the banns away. But this was certainly to most forbidden thing she could do. With a good cause,… it was perilous to set him free. Otherwise,…she didn't had to take all the banns away, it would be enough if she only loosed his legs and not his arms too. She looked at him and on this muscelless legs… he had not used his legs for weeks. No, he would not be able to run away…so…maybe…why not.

"I'm going to exempt your legs from the banns. When I will help you to walk to the washtub over there." If he'd heard her, he did not show it…his face was and stayed numb…except of his mouth because he bit himself on his lips. However, his numbness was gone as she now stood beside him and he tensed up as he recognized Hermiones wand over his body. Now he appeared to be interested in that she was doing, not in her…he avoided to look her into her eyes. But her hands holding the wand were obviously something else. It took her some time to accomplish the charm she needed, but he waited patiently and in some way…this was more scarier as the words he said to her before.

He looked…not anxious but nervous. As if he had a really good idea in exactly the moment he felt the life arising again in his body.

But Hermione was lost in thought and so she paid no attention to the hinted smile at his lips.

Maybe he had used this body-banns himself to keep his captives calm, maybe he invented them himself…and now exactly this banns were used to hold him captured. Irony of fate…

If he was as weak as he looked? Wouldn't it be possible for him to him to overpower her in spite of underfeeding and the long time motionlessness?

Anew she hoisted him and sat him upright in the bed. And really…as she took these long, marrowless legs and pulled them over the edge of the bed, she sensed a slight tremor and felt how muscles cramped and relaxed again, while useless and nerveless arms sagged.

But he was still to weak to walk himself. He buckled were almost downfallen as she stood him on his own feed he. No, he was not able to walk (or to be seriously dangerous to her….hopefully) so she had to shoulder him and if she had not also used a support-charm, they had never managed it to go those steps from his bed to the bathtub.

He didn't say much this morning, avoided to look into her face and ignored her. Humiliated and vanquished? Perhaps, but a silent Voldemort was so much better as the constant verbal attacks of the last time.

All the books about care and clean charms she'd read paid for themselves because Hermione had to bear the burnt with his bed, while he soaked in the bathwater. But no matter, she swore to herself that, if he would become only a bit friendlier, she would exert herself for him.

After all the washing was done he was totally lamed back in his bed, she said beside him, brought the newspaper which had lain on the trolley and did as if she was going to read it to him. But she didn't and instead of reading she paused for a moment and gave him a conspiratorially smile.

I've told you I would have something for you, haven't I? Have a look…" her small hand disappeared in her hospital-cloak, only to appear a few seconds again with a little beaded handbag.

A few seconds he still seemed to be resolved to continue ignoring her, but then he broke his silence in a visibly annoyed tone „What shall I do with it?".

His red eyes daggered at her but Hermione stayed calm, smiled and waggled anew the handbag in his face. "Oh, it's not the handbag. My surprise for you is IN this handbag." She pulled the handbag back near to her, opened it and dug with an outstretched hand, mysterious strumming, into the handbag. After she'd found what she had been looking for, she conjured, as if she pulled a rabbit out of a hat, three, big, filled sandwiched forth.

Neither the Elderwand nor all possessions of the Hogwarts founders put together could have been causing such a greed in his face as those sandwiches did. He hadn't had something to eat for ages. His was devitalised and after the last two days without anything, completely famished. An animalistic expression screwed up his face as the bread was held in front of his face.

Oh sure, Hermione was aware how ridicules it was to treat Lord Voldemort like an infant, but it was easier to her this way. If she managed it to let him shrink, she would be able to enlarge herself. And then there was no need to fear him, more or less. Otherwise, she would by broken by her task, or she would go mad. No…it was better to shrink him. Altough Voldemort probabyl wouldn´t like it. But who asked him? No one…

No, he didn't say thank you to her, but who would have been expecting this? Nevertheless, he was certainly grateful as she feed him with small-cut sandwiches while she read the newest death-eaters uncoverings to him.

She was more than delighted with herself as was leaving in the afternoon. Her triumph went sky high as Voldemort threw her a bored "Thank you" after her as she was nearly gone out of the room.

VICTORY! Hermione the lion tamer…snake tamer…what ever…

Regrettably, it was not possible to Hermione to savour her triumph all too much. Voldemort might have decided that it was better to ignore her than to say a friendly word. But Hermione wouldn't have had time to talk to him because he after the shock over his revealed execution he fell ill again. Voldemort called it gastric flue, Hermione called it a panic reaction of existential fears.

His upcoming dead, the loosing off al of his horcurxes, his brutal defeat and his own death he couldn't oppose anything against brought him to his knees. Only once he addressed to her on the next day. „When will they do it and how?"

Hermione had just been busy cutting his nails, but winced as she heard his voice so that she'd nearly cut him into his toe. She looked up with surprise, but as her brown eyes met the former glimming, but now extinguished red eyes she had to lower her gaze because she was not able to look into his face while conversing with him about that issue. "I don´t know it exactly. I´ve heard something about end of September or early October, but I think end of September is more likely. They want to do it as fast as possible." Hermione tried to swallow the unpleasant lump in her throat. She coughed nervously and paid her attention to his feet again. "By the way, i´ve lied. There is no coffin behind your door. You have been measured but…" a hasty glance into his frozen face and she had to avert her gaze again, but her even so she tried to make her voice sound uninvolved her red turned face betrayed her tensed mood. She was done now with his feet and so she stood put, pulled her chair a bit nearer to him and tampered with his fingers. After a few seconds of silence she harrumphed and glimpsed. He was visibly strung out and lurked for what she was else going to say. "The ministry doesn't want to give birth to a new place of pilgrimage. They want to delete you totally. That's why they'd chosen to…the death-chamber…they…".

"Enough!" interrupted her Voldemort gruffly. Then he mumbled more to himself as to Hermione "So that's the way it all ends…". Hermione stared to his fingers and sure she'd never cut nails so thoroughly as she did it this morning. But even this work was bearable was continuing with this kind of conversations. Oh no, he wasn't sorry for him or for his destiny…but being confronted with other peoples death was since the battle-of-Hogwarts something, she never wanted to experience again.

But anyway, shortly afterwards he felt sick again and instead of talking, she brought him a bucket. The third time he had to vomit today. No matter how other she gave him something to drink, those short two or three hours a day were just not enough to compensate the liquid shortage he had by the flue.

Finally was Saturday and she looked forward to be rid of him for the next to days, so she had much free time for herself and Ron. Rid of him and of sorrows she did not want to have but she wasn´t able to shake off. All she had to do was to tidy up, and when she could go.

Voldemort was rather confused today. Three times, he called her Bellatrix and as he wanted to hear the same newspaper article for the fourth time, she answered him, finally on the edge. "I've read it to you for three times now. I don't feel like reading it a forth time. And what's more, I am not Bellatrix Lestrange, my name is Hermione." The brown-haired young women struggled against the unloved renaming.

He appeared to be confused for a moment, but then Voldemort replied in his usual majestic manner. " I don't feel particularly well, but unobservant as you are, you noticed nothing thereof. Go and bring Severus to me, he shall brew a potion to me."

Hermione dropped some towels with shock. Slowly, pressed and carefully she replied. "Severus Snape is dead. You have killed him."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes as if he was cogitating exerted, then he retorted angrily. "Oh yes, I remember. How unfavourable. Then go and search for Nagini. I think we could brew the potion ourselves, if we had some snake poison." although that was as unfriendly as usual, it sounded much quieter than before. Of course, he was always pale, but today he managed it to look even sicker as few days ago.

With eyes wide opened and the voice slowly and appeasing, Hermione acquiesced. "Okay. I'm going to look for Nagini. I'll be soon back."

The Aurors were rather astonished as they saw Hermione coming out of the room without the trolley, they were even more astonished as Hermione hastened away and shouted, she would be back soon. One of them, a tall, black man yelled at her if she had been attacked, but Hermione did not answer because she was already out of he forensic wing and rushed upstairs.

Things could not go on like this. He was obviously so dehydrated that he became deranged. If she wouldn't undertook something soon, he would die in her hands of. And he shouldn't die…it was her job to keep him alive, till... but the end of this sentence was not important now, and so she sought advice by the first person she met. Head Nurse Claris, just back from her sick certificate, stamped towards Hermione not as if she walked through corridor in he hospital but rather as if she marched across a battle-field to go to the next best war. "What are you doing here?"

Hermine took a step back and sighed. Claris wasn't here first choice, but better as no one. "I´m sorry head-nurse. It´s because of my patients. He scares me." And in the moment she said it she heard herself how silly it sounded. Claris appeared to endorse her. "So what? He scares all of us. Pull yourself together and go then you go back to him. Certainly YOU know how to handle him." The warlike medicine-woman gave out.

Hermione rolled her eyes annoyed. "No, that´s not why I'm here. He´s Strange. He gets not enough water and now he is ill. Gastric flue. I think he's dehydrated because the most time he's in a kind of a twilight state and he says odd things. Calls me by wrong names and asks me for people who are already dead and…".

"HE SPEAKS?" barked St.Mungo´s Watchdog back. Embarrassingly Hermione became aware that she had not noticed this fact in her reports. "Erm…yes…since…yesterday. But he speaks only muddled stuff. I really think someone should look after when i´m not there tomorrow." she asked for some understanding. But Claris was used to dismiss young girls as Hermione. "Miss Granger. Do you really think we would not have enough own work? I´m going to tell you what I believe. Your patient killed so many people in his past so that he is not able to remember who he'd already killed and who not yet. And now go downstairs, write a detailed report to me about what he talks to you and take your mind of what happens to him on Sunday. If you will ever have the feeling again, that you should ask me such questions, please go home and accost your library card. That's all." After giving this sneering advice, Claris opened the door behind her and disappeared in a nirvana o flannels, towels and bedpans.

Humiliated and helpless Hermione turned around and went back downstairs to her cellar-whole. He appeared a bit clearer again, neither he called her Bellatrix nor asked for dead people so that Hermione calmed herself down. Maybe he was not in such a serous state as she had thought. So she decided to hung her sorrows together with her hospital-cloak into locker, took a deep breath (but rued it immediately as she the hospital odour) and set out for the burrow.

The last week pooped her indeed. No she needed some distance. She understood Harrys feelings so well…it was awful to have this man inside of the own head (and mind). How appeasing it was to banish him from there…even so it won't be long.

xXx

She succeeded not completely. The atmosphere in the burrow was tensed. Fleur was pregnant and oversensitive. Ron did his best to make plain to Geroge why he first wanted to finish the school, before he would join the jokeshop. Ginny tried to persuade her mother to let her go out with Harry tonight. Percy and Mr Weasley quarrelled over the question if it was maintainable from the ministry when agreed to withdraw the charge against the Malfoys, then they could catch convinced death-eaters instead of them.

Hermione tried hard to ignore those family disputes. Not for the first time she had the unpleasant feeling of sitting in the heart of something she did not belong to. Like always, it was easier to read a back then listening to those quarrels. She thumbed through an exemplar of "fastest effective magic potions." And tried to find something in there about the correct use of snake venom in heal-potions. In all likelihood, Lord Voldemort had invented his Strengthening potion himself, so it was actually superfluously to search for it in a book she bought in Flourish & Blotts, but it was still a welcome excuse for ignoring the Weasleys. She found a few lines about healing unicorn blood, but firstly it was impossible to her to get that, and secondly a wrong use of the ingredients could end deadly.

Harry probably felt also unpleasant about the Weasleys differences, and so he sat next to her and had a look at the opened sites. "You´re learning again? What for? School or your job?" without waiting for an answer, he snatched the book away from Hermione and took a closer look at the next site she'd just flipped open. "Serpent-Potion?" he goggled about what he had discovered so that Hermione got a bit time to cook up a new excuse. "Yes…it's for…ill snakes." Her face turned red as she felt to heat, which was rising inside her.

"Of course I'm no snake-healer, but snakes are rears snakes and I think I've read sometime about a serum which contains snake venom. And so I…try to find it."

"Hermione, you're no animal-healer." He gave back in a doubtfully tone. He chewed on his lips as his eyes run anew over the lines and with every additive word he read, his and his face clouded more an more.

„I know mainly one person who mixed snake venom in potions. Maybe you should page a few sites forwards, I'm sure you will find something about unicornblood too."

It was obvious what Harry was driving at. If he only knew…if they all knew… "No, you're wrong" she stammered, but Harry shook his head annoyed and closed in on her. "You're Book. Hermione…I thought you had abandoned this idea. Well, your decision, but I'm not going to give you a single interview." And with these words he stood up, threw the book back in her hands and walked over to Ginny, who seemed to be successfully because she smiled while Mrs Weasley left the room with a disapproving muttering.

"Too bad. But if you change your mind…". She yelled and tried to give her voice a disappointed tone. Harry turned around and waggled negatory with his hands. "No, thank you. Last week I've got an official letter from Kingsley. Looks if I had to testify against some death-eater, probably end of September or early October. That´s enough…".

The book fell rumbling from her lap and what luck, Harry paid his attention to Ginny so he did not she how pale Hermione turned. Harry had to testify against…Voldemort. Sure, that was clear. And they would come and see and understand and… hopefully not what Hermione was afraid of now. The absolute end of her friendship.

A big shock waited for her on Monday. It was obvious that nobody visited him since Friday. Apart from the fetidness, which was caused by two soap-less days, he wasn't approachable anymore too. Anew she hastened upstairs in the hope of finding help in the upper floors.

She begrudged Claris the triumph his dead. And she begrudged HIM the joy of haunting her as a ghost. He he died, it would be the ultimate proof to him that she was as incabably as he always said.

The situation was easy to see through it. If she would be honest and said whom she needed a medicine for, nobody would help her. The personnel dismissed her and her sorrows on him, or they thought that he deserved it to day. Oh sure, Hermione thought so too…but until…sometime…it was her job to prevent this and Hermione took her task very seriously.

Anyway, she´d already considered another way. She rushed to the spell damage wing and..waited…waited…and waited. It was more than enough to drive her crazy. Not until 30minuted Nurse Helen came out of the looked ward, pushing an empty bed off (was the patient healthy or dead?).

"Oh hello Hermione, I can't have a break now. Maybe later on…if you want to go to the visitors tearoom with me later on…about 14h?" Hermione nodded first tantalised, but when she shook her head. "Don´t know… I feel so sick today."

"Hmm, you´re really looking alike. What's wrong with you?" motherly worried Helen came a bit nearer to Hermione and eyeballed her. "You're so pale…are you ill?"

The young Gryffindor shrugged and nodded. "Gastric flue… that´s so disgusting and i´m somehow wobbly on my feed." She pretended in a rehearsed laments.

Instantly the visibly frightened Helen took a step back. "Oh…you poor thing. And in a hospital…gastric flue. That´s not good. Better you come along with me." Helen went back to the spell-damage door and shoved Hermione through the door in a small room right behind the door, went to tall cupboard, dug into it for a few moments and fished a bluish gleaming ampoule out.

"Here…three gulps and you're back on you're feed again. Take the whole ampoule with you… you never know." Helen took the ampoule, put it into her cloak and staggered in a feigned weakness downstairs again. Satisfied she rubbed her hands. But no, she was not as contented as she should be… because she knew, if she'd betrayed the real purpose of this potion to Helen it would be as unachievable to her as the gold in fort knox.

Voldemort looked comatose as she entered the room, but she only had to instill four gulps in him four gulps and he awoke. Half an hour later and he appeared to be clear and responsive again. But then…

„Are Bellatrix and Severus in this hospital too?" he muttered between to further gulps she filled into him.

Hermione deposed the medicine on his beside table and asked herself if she gave him maybe too much of that potion. "Nnnooo" she stammered nervously. "They´d died during the battle…".

Then she heard Voldemorts usual impatient-annoyed voice again, stronger and clearer as before. "Of course I know what. I saw them dying myself, but…" and the voice shrunk again and became doubtful. "But I am considered dead but still I am here. I just thought maybe…" but Hermione already shook her curls. „No…they're all d… dead. Only with you they committed this…mistake."

She pressed her lips together and then bit in them, swallowed to get the lump out of her throat.

The evil word with „D"suffocated her throat so that she was rather surprised as she noticed that she still could breathe.

He turned his head away from her and gazed out of the window. Watched a world he would never see again in freedom.

Tom Riddle. Nomen est omen? Anew he became silent for the rest of the day, from time to time he glanced at her, seemed as if was trying to say something, but averted his gaze as he noticed that she returned the look.

Hermione puzzled over the question if it might be that he really missed one of his former followers…was he able to regret the death of another person? Or wasn't it more likely that he just thought about the remaining was to get out of this prison?

* * *

**_R & R ?  
_**

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	9. Aboulic

Er hatte zwar aufgehört, sie Schlammblut zu nennen, doch Dankbarkeit war etwas anderes

Lap84: Thanx…I think the real storyplot starts with this chapter…

Bellatrix: Wait… Voldemort was too weak and too hungry to do much… but he gets healthy again and I think… the real story starts with this chapter

(sorry, spelling update)

Chapter 9: Aboulic

He stopped calling her Mudblood, but gratefulness was something else.

Hermione had been awake the entire night. All night long, she rolled in her bed and counted seconds, minutes and hours that crept unendingly slow over her. Endless hours long she stared from her ceiling to the walls, from the walls to the floor and from the floor back to the ceiling again. Unable to think of something else than her sorrows about the man she planned to kill a few weeks ago.

It was the first time of her life she found no answers in her books, in what Dumbledore of other teachers told her and that made her confused. More than confused. Helpless, lonely and disquietingly she asked herself where this way would bring her.

It was nothing new for her to fight in her own but there was always someone around her she trusted in…but now, it became all so complicated.

According to her long night, she rather scuffled than walked, crooked, slouchy and with a hanging head through the entrance hall of St.Mungo´s. The world around her appeared dimmed and colourless. Everything what happened around her, temperatures, smells, noises, colours and the unimportant, dummy conversations of visitors, nurses and healers disappeared behind a foggy curtain that cut her perception from the rest of the world off. Like a sleepwalker she noticed nothing around her, was only aware of her feet which appeared from time to time on the floor…yes, maybe she wasn't really walking, maybe she was floating…but why had her body to be so heavy and suppressive, if she was floating? Her hand was holding a Coffee mug. When did she buy it? She could not remember. Not so bad, she decided to warm it later on.

The first thing she awoke to was the enormous number of observant looking people which sneaked unmistakeable in fraught watchfulness through the hospital. They send nervous views to other nervous looking persons, whispered unknowable stuff and winced everytime someone around sneezed or caught…

They seemed to observe every ashtray, every cauldron, every ampoule and lurked behind nearly every dustbin and under every flambeau Hermione passed by. Still she was too tired to be surprised by all those patrolling people (and Hermione was, tired or not, pretty sure they were Aurors).

Anyhow, she did not move her body, her body moved her and took her across floors, corridors and doors she did not notice until she arrived downstairs and opened the door of the forensic ward. Not two but four Aurors watched Voldemorts door today. He tall red-haired man (a further member of the big Weasley-Clan she did not know?) took her aside and tried to make the seriousness of the situation plain to her, impressively. "Nurse Claris has informed the Auror-Office, yesterday. Now that he is awake, again we have to tighten the precautions. So listen to me Miss Granger. You must NEVER talk to him and NEVER look into his eyes. He will try to manipulate you, don't let it happen."

A strong, cold iron hand, like the hand that strangled Wormtail, enclosed her throat and boosted the pressure with every single word this young man said to her.

Isn´t it encouraging? She thought to herself, bitterly and full of irony. Outside are standing legions and inside I have to be alone with him. Why nobody struck to the idea that it could be useful to put some Aurors in his room too? Why no one wasted a serious thought on her security. Don't talk to him; don't look at him… great. Easier said as done.

However, today she was not alone with him. Six persons stood around his bed as she entered the room. She'd seen two of them before in the hospital…healers. She knew that an older man worked for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, so the three other persons had to be Aurors, she guessed. All the assembled persons held notepads in their hands, nodded from time to time, mumbled something and scribbled something an the pads hectically, what Hermione could not see.

They seemed to be very excited. Attentively they listened all to what a clear, cold voice told them.

She saw the owner of this voice, between those people's backs. His bed was uplifted again, so that he sat upright and could have seen their faces. However, she was sure he didn't because they kept on avoiding looking in his direction. Instead of looking to him, they looked on their pats, his feet, and the walls or on the floor. The movements of their hands were hectically because it seemed to be difficult to them to hold the feather, write something and then put it away to take back the wand as fast as possible… too obviously that they´d been too afraid of him to risk it being without their weapon for more than five seconds. One of the Aurors, he was young and appeared to be new, was particularly anxious. He tried to hold both, feather and wand in one hand, the notepad in his other hand…but that didn't work. The feather fell down, he whimpered with fear as he noticed the severe gaze he got from an older man beside him, and got on his knees, crept across the floor to search the downfallen things. He looked up, as he crept into her direction and discovered her feet. "Please wait outside, Miss Granger. " He whispered to her as he rose up again, the missing things found and in his hands.

Hermione nodded and turned around. The way this young man moved, so clumsy and his agitated gestures…it remained her of Tonks…Tonks…one more Person she never would see again. But that was an unhealthy thought; she whipped it away in a dark corner of her mind and got out again. Why were those people with him? Could it really be, that Claris listened to her and send someone to look after him, because he'd been in such a critical state yesterday?

A few minutes later came two witches and four wizards, all of them looking churned up, out of the room, signified to her that she was allowed to go back to him because they were finished, and walked away while there kept on debating hectically. And left her alone with him…the lurking shadow…

The white serpent lurked, well…lay, still with uprighted upper body in the bed and if Hermione wasn't wrong, he awaited for her.

Smiling, shy she walked into the room, pushing the trolley in front of her as a shield, to held at least, a symbolic distance to him. "Finally Healers came to you. I´ve told the Headnurse yesterday…".

"HA!"

A frosty noise, it reminiscented her of a laugh vaguely, made of ice and steal, sliced through the girls thin voice. He sounded so cold and unendingly bitter. "Hardly likely. Those people conversed with me, because they wanted to assure themselves, if my state of mind allows it to follow the trial."

A growl deep out of hell followed by an icy titter. How could a face change so much? But always cold and cruel.

„They asked me questions about the last battle. Above all of course, about my plans and about my servants. I consider if I will express myself about that. Well, I'm going to see your friends again at the court. Aren't I? An unexpected meeting."

"What ever you say." Was all Hermione wanted to reply on that. Was it a threat, an announcement or the try of a conversation? Anyhow, she could not contain herself. "You know that the Malfoys shall testify against you?"

"Oh yes, they don't know I am still alive, do they? It promises to be entertaining." Voldemort returned in an expectant tone as if he was a little boy who was looking forwards to Christmas.

And to the first time, Hermione totally agreed with him wholeheartedly.

„The Malfoys"he spit out disgustedly "People without no backbone. They may be rich and boastful, but still they are lacking in convincement. Not particularly intelligent and still to weak after all. Lucius shall look into my eyes while he testifies. He will see what he gets from that."

Hermione did not know what she should make of this baneful announcement. What could he, lamed and wandless, do to Lucius Malfoy? He was disarmed and defenceless, wasn't he? However, he already seemed to have another thought.

„Aren't you in the same grade as Lucius´ son Draco? Severus was your teacher, wasn't he?" he hoisted his rest-eyebrows almost in a way as if he had been interested in what she was answering "Did you like Severus?"

The answer was not easy to Hermione. "No, not really." She said slowly and deliberately. Pensively she lent back on the trolley, which rolled aside by her weight so that she almost stumbled. But she straightened up herself, gave the trolley a slight boot and pulled it back to her thereafter. Crossed arms she now lent at the wall, curled her lips and sighed thoughtfully. "He was an unfriendly, cynically and embittered man. Still, it's a pity that we could never thank him for all he had done. He put himself in such a great danger." A short glance aside in flamy red eyes let this assumption became a certainty. "We all have misjudged him. We suspected him so often but he was always on our side." She sighed thoughtfully and let her finger run trough her hair. So much should have been told to so many people who weren't alive anymore. And Voldemort was accountable for all those dead.

Voldemort was by no way an enjoyable dialogue partner, but the fact that she was just washing a naked murderer, while he watched every of her movements appraisingly was too bizarre to think about. Almost obscene. Nevertheless, as long as it was possible to distract herself were even such morbid conversations and acceptable method to prevent herself from thinking about the here and now.

Hermione seized the soapwaterbowl and carried it over the washbasin, the get rid of all the dirt she felt in his presence. However, no matter how much and how often she rubbed herself down, she often she showered after her work, she still felt grimed.

Voldemort interrupted her train of thoughts. "Well, that's opposite to me. I regarded him as a useful and loyal servant, but then it turned out that he has been a traitor."

"Didn't you know that he was Dumbledores man? "this question was on the tip of her tongue for a long time. He nodded his head.

"I had the suspicion since he appeared so exceeding late to my resurrection. Even later on, I could discover signs of betrayal in his mind. However, no. I had no certainty. Otherwise I had killed him very much earlier, of course." the way he spoke about his victims, so factual and sober, sent her cold shivers down her spine. "Still, I regret that I haven't heard about his offences earlier. My followers should have heard about his death. It would have been important making clear to them, that there is no mercy for traitors." his voice, just sounded trivial, now seemed to ooze with disgust as if the very thought of Snape made him gag. As if the former professor had been something disgusting and abhorrent. "Those people are the cancerous ulcer of every society. One must not remove them simply. One must destroy them…radically… to prevent the infestation of healthy parts. That's the only way the more valuable elements can survive. "

Hermione dried her hands and grabbed the coffee mug behind her in the trolley. She spoke more to herself than applied to him, with a quiet but stronger becoming voice, which amounted to a murmured conjuration. „And therefore you are going to be destroyed now" She hold her head up, straightened up herself, looked directly into his eyes and full with convincement and with an so far unknown courage. "That´s why you have to die now. Your destiny is a sign to everyone. So we all can get healthy again."

The coffee in her hand, it had just been half-cold and rather turbid than inventing, got increasingly darker. She first noticed the change as the dark liquid concentrated to a swamp-like, pulpy brew that exploded with the force of a geyser and squirted boiling hot mud into her face.

"AHHHHH"! Her whole face, her ears, her throat and the upper part of her t-shirt were scalded, burnt and blistered.

Voldemort observed unmoved how Hermione staggered up panically. Half-blind who stumbled about her own trolley there she'd put a burn-ointment on.

Her hurting fingers fumbled hectically on the fastening of the tube, which was difficult with swollen eyes and deadened fingers. However, she managed it. Her red skin absorbed the cooling, soothing ointment within seconds and. As far as she could detect as she looked in the mirror, her face got smooth and safe after using the paste, and even the pains disappeared as fast as they came.

The first she saw as she was capable to open her eyes again was a profoundly, evil, triumphating grin which spread out all over Voldemorts pale face. "Don't lull yourself into a false sense of security. It might be an error." Commented the Lord the punishment with the voice of justification.

How had he managed to do it? Even without a wand, without saying a word he was still able to bundle his magic surprisingly well and painful. And she was alone with him.

„I must go to the toilette. "he snarled to her a short time later. Hermione was a bit bemused about this notification and a big red suffused Hermiones faced. Deeply ashamed she tried to do as if she had nothing heard.

„I'm not telling you that because I want to let you participate in my bodily functions, girl." Voldemort cleared her embarrassed cogitations up. "I´m telling you because you shall unloose me. I want to go myself to the toilette over there. "and his head nodded to the toilette on the other side in the room there the folding screen lay useless lent to the wall.

"No, not on any account" Hermione warded appalled. What did he think? She couldn't just relief a violent felon from his fetters, at her own discretion. It doesn't bear thinking about what he could do to her or the Aurors outside the door.

He must have seen her thoughts in her, because a contemptible grin ridiculed her. "Oh come on, or are you afraid of me?"

„I…erm…yes…no…I must not…" stammered the young which, frantically searching for a better argument as „erm…no".

But it did not impress him anyway. A deep look into her eyes told him anew all of her thoughts. Now he talked to her, soft and smooth, mellifluous but not lesser threatening. "I know very well you´re nauseating me. I´ve seen it so often in you. Only the thought of me makes you feel sick. Make it more bearable to us and release me."

But things weren´t so easy. Slowly she shook her head, and step for step, she shied away from him, carefully feeling her way backwards till she felt the wall washbasin an her back. "I must not. Who knows what you could do. "It was no help to euphemise the situation, the danger was too obvious. "In addition…" She gasped and panted for air and new ideas. ""you´re not able to walk anyway."

„So the possibility I could chase and downthrow you, therefore drops out. " Voldemort asserted moderately interested, before he went on speaking so much more insistently. "Then you have to guide me. And now, finally take these bans off me".

Actually she would like to do so, she would like it very much…to wash him was anything but pleasant. Even so he got stronger, he was still weak and in need of help.

She took the bans away before as she bathed him. Only the legs, the rest of his body had still been lamed. Hadn´t that coffee-thing revealed he was still dangerous, even without a wand? No as he got stronger, his powers came threatening fast back.

If he could burn her without a wand, then what else could he accomplish if he managed to wrest the wand away from her? Well, actually the body-memory charm should obviate it. Should…actually…hopefully.

Then he did something and it was more overwhelming than anything else she felt before. His eyes glinted like glowing coals and found their way into hers. Slowly, very slowly, a dull, somniferous overcame her, robed of her own self, as Voldemorts mind drilled into her head.

„Unloose me"ordered a voice, not from him, it seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her. Hermione lost her body. Sunk in the black pupils of his red eyes. Even so he was some steps away from her, was aware of nothing than the twinkle in those red eyes. Lightweighted beyond belief, she floated through a nothing, felt neither heaviness nor heath or coldness. Slight current pulses paved a way through her mind into her will, but she felt know pain.

Pictures and memories passed on by. Moved pictures of a little girl, that was very much like to her, appeared on the eye of her mind. Was it her own life she was watching? She lost the floor below her, lost the contact to her clothes and seemed to fly totally naked through a deep red night but still she felt the warmness of a summerwind on every hair on her body, which caressed her.

His voice, a minute ago threatening and cold, was now sweet-talking, her gentle, silky, warm, and wonderful and everything around her was fraught with its sound. While he ordered her anew to unloose him, she felt this voice embosoming her lost body and stroking her soul.

She did not realise what he said, but it animated her and she felt how those words wrapped her up like a soft cloak and awarded a new figure to her body, gave her mind a purpose. How exceedingly wonderful it was to flew trough that night, to dive into this red there the voice in the wind toughed her tenderly, while her own thoughts faded away.

As being druggy, she came closer, but did not stagger. She barley sensed where he was leading her, but she felt safe, did not stumble. But she did not walk anyway, maybe she floated, all through the red to a seductive voice. If she had no body, how could she still use her hands? How was it possible, that she raised the wand in her hand? Without a will and a voice, how did she manage it to speak the cunjuction-formula, that took the bans off him?

And the contact broke off.

An invisible hand ripped her with brutal violence back into her body and into reality. Horrified to the core about what had just happened, she jumped away, hastened backwards to seek shelter from the lurking snake, which now could attack her at any time to dismember her.

Speechless with fright, she pressed every inch of her body against the wall, stared to Voldemort, who now, distressful slow but with an expression of triumph in his face, set out to move his arms and legs.

He was back in his body too, which has been wrest away from him by his gaolers. He appeared almost happy, as he touched himself, as he felt himself, as if he wanted to assure himself that the life he felt inside really belonged to him.

As in a slow-motion, he pushed himself up until he could sit. Slowly and appreciatively, how wonderful it was to feel and control oneself.

As he finally managed it to sit upright, he let his legs slid over the edge of the bed and watched them dangling and shuttling with a fascinated smile in his face.

„That's better. And now, come here." commanded Voldemort the ashen-faced, whimpering and shivering Hermione, as he seemed to perceive her again.

Still Hermione stood lamed with horror at the wall, and instead of obeying to his order, she crept more and more into the edge of the room.

_He is free, he is free. And I am alone with him_. This idea was added by the fear of being caught. Caught by the Aurors, Clairs or the certainly rootedly disappointed Helen. How often they all impressed upon her, she should neither talk nor look to him. Never in his eyes…and now, more than ever before, she knew why.

Voldemort raised his thin, pale arm and the spider-like fingers lured her. "Come here to me!"

But Hermione don't felt like coming to him. Where was her wand? Had he already ripped it away off her hands? Her hands were empty… The experience of feeling him inside her had been so powerful. She might had done everything he wanted her to do…unable to have even to slightest control on herself.

She was disarmed, alone and at his mercy. Mercy…did he know this word at all? The thin, now more snake-like than ever, body glided to the edge of the bed. The skinny arms turned aside and his white fingers clung themselves seeking help to the bars of the bed. He pushed himself forwards until his feet met the ground and he stood upright and faced her.

And then, he just tumbled down.

„Arrghh. Come here now. Help me, girl." commanded the now by no means sweet-talking voice of the dark lord her back from her fear into reality.

Moreover, there was her wand. Down on the floor, directly in front of her feet. He hadn't charmed it away or ripped it off; she dropped it herself, with horror. She grabbed it fast and approached to the man on the floor who beckoned her over impatiently.

She came closer to him, till she stood above him, the raised wand pointing at him. But she wouldn't be so dumb to get one further step forwards so he could grab her.

Seeing him evocated the picture of the big bad wolf and the seven young kids in her. He also manipulated the goats with his voice and made them do forbidden things, and then…devoured them.

Voldemorts facial features got increasingly more devilish. Seemed as if he was about to hurl new threats at her, but his sepulchral voice gagged only an unutterable irritated „Please" out. "Please, and now come here and help me, girl. "

And Hermione obeyed. Too confused about hearing this word coming out of his mouth, she wasn't able to spin other horror scenarios out. With all her energy, she dragged him to the chair which stood besides his bed. He clung to that chair and hoisted himself up on his feet again.

But then he really grabbed her and threw himself on her. Appalled she thought, that he would now kill, rape, or,at least, knock her down to wrest the wand away from her... Fast, to avoid the worst, she threw her weapon away so that he could not steal it. If he would overpower her, she wouldn't give him the chance to get even more dangerous as he already was.

But the bony figure only clutched at her so far, that he would not fell over again. „Come on. Do I really have to beg? "

Anew she was aboulic, disembodied and let her self guide through a point she was not able to see or to feel. She lent Voldemorts will, until he let her off and Hermione found back to her own body.

But the only thing she could think of now was to get away from him as fast as possible. So she hastened back to his bed to fetch back her wand. She'd been so dumb, so unutterable dumb.

If it was unpleasant to touch HIM, then it was even more unpleasant as he touched HER. To feel this skinny body, to smell him, made her feel sick. In some way it was merciful that he put a spell on her, as he forced her to lead him through the room, so she did not get everything of that disgusting situation… even thinking about it without being able to remember, let her hackles raise.

_How dumb you are_, she scolded herself angrily. _How could you How dare you help him, and what's now_? Oh yes, Claris (and the Aurors?) had thrown here to the wolves. No…Snakes.

And the snake bit her and infected her with its poison. The effect of the poison was a mixture made of imperious and legilimency. Undoubtedly, he invented this spell himself. In this diabolic manner he forced his victims (and his followers?) to do what ever he wanted to, to betrayal their friends, kill their families, commit suicide…and he forced them do to all that cheerfully.

But why he hadn't done anything to her? No attack occurred.

She could run out to beseech the Aurors for help. Otherwise, didn't they tell her, only a hour or so ago, that she should not talk to him, should not look into his eyes…? But she did. And she hadn't done it to the first time. How about that? How should she justify herself, if they asked her why she'd been so carelessly? And maybe… a naked, weak man…he did not try to attack her… maybe she managed it on her own…

She would dare it once more. But before that, she had to get the wand beyond the reach oh his scrawny fingers. No matter how well-conceived the anti-theft protection device of the wand was, she wouldn't put anything past on him. Therefore, Hermiones wand disappeared between a stack of towels on the trolley, which rolled straight to the door after Hermione kicked him with a feet.

When she went across to him to help him back. He was so shaky on his feed. Shivered so much, they almost overbalanced and fell to the floor. His legs, thin and not used to walk for weeks, were too weak to hold his own weight. Still, as he sat on the edge of his bed again and Hermione rescued herself with a bold jump towards the trolley, he appeared to be contented for the first time.

But that wasn´t all. Her surprise knew no bounds as the boastful grinning figure accomplished a sneering „Thank you. "

"Let me be so a bit longer" he asked her, as she circled him with raised wand, bans murmuring. Appreciatively he raised his arms and shook them, seemed to be unlimitedly happy as he finally scratched an itching insect-bite.

The young Gryffindor coudn´t help herself. As she saw him sitting there on his bed, scratching and smiling, he didn´t appeared dangerous to her, he rather looked…twee.

Was it because she had to treat him like a child? Maybe, cause in this moment she felt motherly feelings ascending in her, as she watched him.

She turned around fast. He should never, to no time and under no circumstance see, that she smiled at him. "I'll certainly get to boot if someone's hears about this. I have to ban you solid again." Hermione tried instead to appear in a particularly severe manner.

„No, you haven't. First, you bring me something to drink". Voldemort voice penetrated anew into her mind, as she affronted him in an incautious moment.

"Stop it immediately, I…" and she already watched herself as she gave her conqueror the mineral water bottle.

After he had, shivery but without help, drunk she banned him as quick as flash, not to waste any further second, so she could lay him back into the bed again."

"Don't you ever do that again!" she tried to thread him.

„What? "came the gently, menacing answer back out of the in a strong kind alive looking face.

„That you, you put …this legilimeny, imperious…whatever spells on me. " And she resolved that she would never look into his eyes again. "It was so eerily. One loses oneself."

„Of Course. That was power. My power over you. "He confirmed her fears pleasurable, as if those threatening words savoured like chocolate on his tongue.

„If you obey me furthermore, I'll might teach it to you. And now go."

Unsure about that was an insult, a threat or an announcement Hermione decided to follow his order and sallied forth to go to the door. But just in the second her wand had nearly touched the door, she turned again and demanded: "But I also want to learn occlumency."

A second only, it might have been even shorter, flashed a trace, not just the whiff of a smile, over his face, as he answered her. "Sure, that would be useful to you. Now go."

xXx

Back in the leaky cauldron, Hermione had drawn herself a bath. It was the only bathroom on this floor. It was only a question of time until other people would come and knock on the door because who also wanted to use the bath. But Hermione did not feel like going out of the tub so fast, she had to think about difficult questions and bathing and thinking fitted together very well, so she looked the door with extra strong spells. As far as she knew, the same spells which looked the door of Voldemorts sickroom. But…what did she knew at all? To be honest, not much… and the more she experienced in this job the lesser she knew what to do.  
She lay lent back in the tub, enjoyed the cosy feeling the warm water gave her let her thoughts wander.

If he'd been serious as he offered lessons to her? A trance of a smile stole across her face as she thought on Harry's occlumency lessons with Snape, which had more in common with sado-maso practices than with education.

But now she was about to top the hit list of the most bizarre courses….if she agreed and if Voldemort hadn't lied.

Hermione Granger took lessons by the dark Lord Voldemort.

She should get herself a diary. If she wouldn't set about writing all the weird things of the last few weeks down she had experienced, she would probably not belief it herself in a few years.

Otherwise…lessons from Voldemort? The great manipulator. Wouldn't she make the doors wide open for attacks if she did so?

His demonstration of power this afternoon showed her all too well how much she had failed. How often they warned her, she shouldn't talk to him and above all, shouldn't look into his eyes…but she did. Moreover, neither the Aurors nor the nurses knew what else she had also done for him. Now he got healthier…stronger and mightier. But why he hadn't done something to her so far, although he had probably been able to do so. This afternoon he´d been able to do whatever he liked or wished to her… but nothing had happened. Well, nothing hurting.

A deeply appeasing assurance flooded Hermione. He would do nothing to her, she was safe with him. Not because of gratefulness or affections, he had no understanding of such things. No, it was because she was useful to him. Her usefulness was a stronger protection as decency or feelings he wasn't able to comprehend anyway.

Maybe he'd really liked Severus Snape in his own way, esteemed him at least, but still he killed him unhesitatingly, even so he hadn't known about Snapes betrayal at that point... Because an alive Snape was not longer useful to him. It was dumb to rely on feelings, but not on use.

No matter how much he called her help a bondservice, no matter how often he tried to label her kindness as weakness, no matter how much it humiliated him to get those things from a mudblood… He needed her.

If he would do anything to Hermione, then he'd be back in the hands of the hospital personnel. People who were reluctant to take care for him, and if, they did it sporadically.

He KNEW that he then had do lay in his own sweat and dirt for days…or weeks? He would be hungry and thirsty again…perhaps they'd starve him…

No, he wouldn't endanger her. Because even he wasn't able to love anyone or anything on this world, he was intelligent and rational enough to realise what was useful to him.

Hermione was safe with Voldemort. All of a sudden, all fear was disappeared.


	10. Treatment attempts

_Sorry: Spelling update:_

**Beta: Wanted**_ (desperately)_

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**Chapter 10: Treatment attempts**

Good friends are were to build up and support one another, but also to share fears, problems and sorrows together. Yes, that's the way it should be… Together should many things be easier to stand. Together it was easier to find new ways in solving problems. Nice idea…but regrettably, Hermione Grangers reality was completely different tonight.

A few days after she took the bans from Lord Voldemort for the first time, Hermione met with Ron and Harry once more in the Diagon Alley. Ginny also wanted to come along with them, but reading a newspaper article with an ob

ituary for died grade-mates, she preferred to stay at home. Ron and Harry read this article too, but they came all the same. They'd spent enough time sitting sad and ruminating at home, so they seemed to be glad getting a diversion.

Harry and Ron had laid their heads on the table ahead of Hermione. But the two young men were by no means fallen asleep or to drunk to sit up straight…

But for laughing.

Harry took pains to pull himself together, at least , as he drank out of the butter-beer-bottle in his hand to distract himself, but as it came clear it wouldn't work, he turned away from Hermione as the laughing fit rolled over him again.

Ron by contrast, gave free rein to his opinion. With the head on the table board, he lay in front of her and his clenched fists thumped over and over again on the bold creaking desk below him.

His laughers, if this noise could be called that way, evocated the despaired gargle of a drowning man. But Ron didn't drown, gnarling red it the face it became more and more impossible to him to sit straight up.

The head, seemingly hoisted up by unspeakable strength, was only held up by his hands as he gazed at her and chuckled for the thousand time this evening. "Hermione. You´re wonderful. Unique."

Annoyed at that all too friendly derision, Hermione sat cross-armed and cross-legged towards to him, white and controlled in the face, the lips pressed together as if she would fear bursting if only on of the words, which were crossing her mind, came out.

"I don't know why you are laughing. I don't see the joke!" she hissed angrily at her boyfriend.

Harry straightened up again, tried to speak but it did not seem as he was still able to coordinate speaking, laughing and breathing at once. So the last try ended in squirting butterbeer. out of his nose and mouth. Ron yowled at that sight again and even louder as before, while his head fell back on the table again, which now was trounced by the flat of his hand.

Harry, deep red in the face whipped the foam off his face. „Say it once again, Hermione. Please…".

Hermione, sitting bolt upright, facing her two friends, tried in defiance of that jeer, to confer a particularly dignity on her sight. In a majestic tone, she replied. "I see it this way… People are reflecting their environment and the way this environment approaches to them. That's ecological psychology."

"Hermione the farmer, with her own death-eater breeding." Ron interrupted her once more, as he managed it shortly to restrain the next laughter fit.

Affronted to the core, Hermione thought about how much sense it would make to tell those both ignoramuses the principle of her undertake. "That has nothing to do with farming, Ronald. I explain it to you."

"Oh yes, please…" it sputtered together with any more swallowed up beer out of Harry's mouth.

"Well, in a bleak atmosphere, you feel uncomfortable and will become evil. So you have to change the environment and it's conditions, if you want to make a change of the person possible. And because my patient is a bit…" Hermione harrumphed bashful „difficult, I try to change his mind with a friendly looking, interior design and my own positive vibrations. I've read everything about that… and well….it works." Hermione reported, as she tried to stab the both boys with her wagging forefinger and an undeniably argument "And wasn't I right as I told you to treat Kreacher kindly?"

"Positive Vibrations…GREAT!" was everything what Ron, during a new drum roll on the table desk, was able to utter.

The people around them started asking themselves, if Hermiones companions might have been drug addicted or lamed by the titillation curse.

The topic was still dangerous, but all the same it was possible to talk about, without yelling at each other angrily. Neither Ron nor Harry asked which person Hermione took care for. But it was clear that they thought it would be Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy Senior was hardly battered after the final. They knew he'd been brought to a hospital after the battle too. As far as Hermione heard from Helen, he did not stay long at St.Mungo´s. Soon after his admission, he'd been he'd been redeployed, together with the "Rest" (the ones, who were still alive) of his family, into a prison. But anyway… her friends didn't know that.

The mental picture of Hermione, who'd tried to make a better man of Lucius Malfoy, using pretty furniture, entertained her friends for hours. These Philistines…

„In addition, I tried to work with Feng Shui. Which means…I'd rearranged the furniture, not a lot of them by the way, so that the room now radiates harmony. Well, i´m thinking about hanging up some pictures . As a kind of a view… you know?" actually, Hermione regarded that as a brilliant idea.

Hermione ordered herself a utmost odd brew. She was still unsure if she should pay the compliment to it, of referring it to a drink. A pink, with silver filaments marmorated, evocating of soap, substance, which smelled of violets, stood in a long drink glass in front of Hermione and bubbled peacefully away. It almost seemed, as the drink-soap would have a life of its own, cause every time she tried to plug her straw in to wash away her anger, the substance gave way to the straw.

No matter where she plugged in, the brew pulled up itself on the glass-walls and tried to dodge. Hermione kept on trying to win that tag play, by spearing the drink with surprise attacks, faster and faster, she carried out her memories too them. „It´s really not silly. Look, the walls have been bare, grey and the plaster crumbled away. So I renewed it magically, and coated them with a new colour." insecure about the next reaction, she squinted up carefully, but the boys demanded her with inviting gestures, to go on. "Sun-yellow. That shall look friendly." As Hermione almost had managed to drink something, but the substance jumped surprisingly fast in an already emptied glass next to it, she detected out of the corner of her eyes, how Ron jostled Harry, while his mouth formed the words "sun-yellow." Pah! If they found it to be funny…

"Furthermore, I have conjured those odd, white bedcovers a bit cuddlier and recoloured them."

„Let me guess…GREEN! He's a slytherin, isn't he?" Ron's gaggling voice gave out. He seemed to find Hermions drink so exciting, that he waggled with both outstretched arms through the air to order himself the same.

Grateful about this distracting, Hermione lowered her gaze. Ron hit the nail on the head. Right. Green. So what? The head deep stooped over her glass, she lurked the seemingly peaceful slumbering, pink substance, which gave the impression to wait for the next drink-try-attack, while a mumbling under her locks came out. "Yes, Green. So what? And I have" now she leaned herself a bit more forwards. "conjured little, silvery snakes thereon. For decoration, you know?" before the both boys had once more the chance to hold forth about this, Hermione raised her straw as threatening as normally only her wand, pointed at a corner she was going to stick in, and then…WAMM! she finally made it to outsmart her drink, by boring the straw in the opposing side. The substance first sizzled and reared up angrily, but then had to admit its defeat, so Hermione could now try a first gulp.

Fascinated about this spectacle, Ron approached at the first, then followed by Harry, nearer to Hermione, so that they now sat on the same side of the round table, looking over Hermiones shoulder.

Strangely, but the drink, it tasted refreshing and a slightly sweet, didn't decrease in her glass after she drank something of the liquid.

„Self-filling, you know?" commented Hermione, as she saw the astonished looking faces to her left and to her right. „It's called „Elixir of Life." Of course it doesn't immortalises you, it's rather an allusion to it's life of it's own." and as it agreed, the finally vanquished brew gave out a gentle purr.

A young women in a shocking pink dress flew on a broom to them, but without clinging herself, because she already needed her hands for the two tablets she brought along on which the drinks have stood, she now gave to Ron and Harry. Two, not in pink but blue- and green-silver marbled, siblings of Hermiones drink sizzled and bubbled now angrily under the Gryffindor-boys noses.

Now a bit more self-confident - was it because of the alcoholic effect of the drink?- Hermione showed more of her project off to them. "And I got him same perfumed candles. Vanilla, Cinnamon and Mountinblossom… that shall distract him from the hospital smell. Yes, I ignited some for him, but…erm… perhaps he is allergic to them. It could also be that it was because he had gastric flu." Surely that was the reason, it's been the day after he asked for Bellatrix. The persisted sickness was certainly not an effect of Hermiones stubbornly efforts giving the dark lord some understanding to that appeasing smells.

"Well, I've also tried it with aromatherapy but…well, I fear it might can be smelled outside the room. But well, I believe there is a smell-blocker…nothing-in, nothing-out. Anyhow, I've put some small aroma bowls with soothing fragrances on his windowsills. It looks very nice, and now the entire room is fraught with the smell of Lavender, rosewood and jasmine. Colours and smells changing themselves daily, you know?" The breast swelled with pride, Hermione knew more good ideas she had to talk about, while Ron and Harry flashed each other amused glances behind her back.

"Besides, I got him a potted plant. Was a bit circumstantially to put it into my beaded bag. You now, the flower soil crumbed out of the pot over and over again out , but I accomplished that with a tighten-charm. Ah… I have to tell you about those flowers, they are great." Hermione remembered with a dreamy glance. "They are looking like violets, but they are bigger and pearl-whit, only the edge of the petals is silver-framed. Right. But the petals can change their colour. When he gets angry, the colour of the petals changes to blue. Then whole flower shines blue. I read about it in an article about colour-psychology. Blue makes people calm and appeased. Yes, and, in addition, the more he becomes angry, the more intensive becomes the blue of the petals. You see, the flower works like a sentiment indicator, so I called it a mood-flower. My own invention, you know? "

Hermione was pretty proud on herself, as she told about that difficult charm-inventions to her friends, ignored the laughter-fits to her right and to her left, but felt ashamed as she remembered the flower glaring blue like the deepest ocean, as she explained the effects of the small aroma bowls to Voldemort.

Where did they come to? Now that she thought of it… he'd forced her again to unloose him yesterday…and to help him walking through to room. If he'd managed it to spirit off the small aroma bowls? Well, she would obtain Aroma bowls anew…but this time she would fix it with a permanent sticking charm.

An elongated exultation-shout starlet her out of her consideration. Harry was the first of her companions who made it to vanquish his green-silver opponent. Shortly after, an orgasm-like bliss moan escaped Ron's mouth, as he also managed it to stick his straw into the rebelling liquid.

„What did your colleges say to it? Have they finally looked in on him?" Ron enquired, after he calmed himself again.

Yes, what did Claris say? No, Claris hadn't looked after him since the day of his admission, but of course, she'd read all of Hermiones reports and so she found out about her therapeutic endeavours. That day was the first day, Claris patted her commendatory on the shoulder. She wouldn´t have been expecting such filed torture-methods from Hermione.

„Well, the head nurse loved it. She meant, she´d thought I couldn´t be capable to such a richness of ideas. I would have been even more fancy as she self."

Harry, one leg on the floor, the other besides him on the round settee, that encircled the round, ebony black table, made a face as if she was a small child that just had asked how all the small people came into the television.

"Well, you say there's no warm water, only thin spreads, nothing to eat and so on. Gee! Hermione your new cruelties have certainly impressed her."

With a slight rubescence, Hermione realised her friend had to be right. Obviously Claris had regarded this as a joke. But, was her opinion thereon interesting at all?

Did she know how it was like, having to be together with this man day by day? She had to do something at all.

On the one hand, because she really felt a kind of motherly emotions inside her, but on the other hand, also because she had to distract herself from the quiet threat that always seemed to float around him.

Than he put those spells on her, as she'd been in his power… Even without a wand, only by the sound of his voice, he could have been forcing her to do a murder.

She thought about it. Why haven't he tried overmastering he? He must been considering that he had small odds. Not in overpowering her, but in fighting against the four the armed Aurors in front of his door, and all the other ones who were based all around the hospital. No, without a wand he wouldn't get far.

Also, as well, he needed her. She was useful to him.

She kept on telling this to herself, to calm down. Moreover, as Hermione had come to his room as the healers and Aurors stayed with him, she heard them saying that they put a tighten-Curse on him. The whole thing worked similar to Harrys Marauder´s Map, so the Aurors could watch him at any time and at any place he might was in the hospital. In addition, this special curse debarred him from moving his body even one inch out of the hospital. A magical glue… no, not right, a magical dog leash. However, he would die if he set only one feet where it did not belong. And of course…the body-memory-charm of her wand, how grateful she was for this charm, made it impossible to him, to touch Hermiones weapon.

However, he wasn't able to charm…well, to charm in a exalted manner, and the tighten-curse bared him from any run-, walk- or fly away trials. Really? Hermione distinguished that, because of he still was able to use her as a Marionette… Aboulic…and he could force her to give the wand to him. But he should try to do so…he wouldn't be able to touch it. Hopefully.

„Iiihii…it tickles in my nose" yelled Ron himself back into her memory, as he rubbed his face with both hands.

Well, Hermione had to admit to herself, that Lord Voldemort himself didn't particularly appreciate her efforts to pacify him. Therefore he could not kill her, he preferred to do as if she wasn't around. This whole thing was so undignified to him, that he didn't even want to resist against it.

Ah…what did he know at all? If he knew what was good for him, he wouldn't be predicament now. Ron and Harry may found her way silly, Dumbledore might have tried it in another manner, but to be honest…everyone else who tried to change Voldemort behaviour failed miserably. It couldn't get worse. She could only win.

And so he became her child. A 6 foot 3 inches tall, tending to outbursts of violence, pale, thin child without a nose, but outfitted with tremendously magical skills. But yet, her fosterling.

Only once Hermione had seemingly exceeded the limit of what Lord Voldemort was able to ignore. That day Hermione told him overjoyed, that since her first s.p.e.w. days it was so immensely relaxing to her, to knit hats, socks and mufflers for enslaved elves. Full of pride, she'd showcased a pair of kittling needles to him, as a matter of course, not without the

appending wool in slytherin-green, and challenged him to try it likewise.

The bunch burst into flames within seconds.

„Please tell us once more about his underwear" Ron begged, who skipped closer to her and laid his arm fatherly on her shoulders,

„Hey, that's not my fault. Such wasn't my intention." Hermione defended herself with might and main. "Those hospital-people haven't given him something to put on. So I bought him a boxer-shorts-undershirt combination." Flooded by embarrassing memories, Hermione had to interrupt her speech for a short moment, so she saw Ron and Harry waiting, full of enthusiastic anticipation, for what was coming now. "…and I don't have much money, so I had to buy him what was on special offer. And that was…light-blue with pink florets on it."

A bang, a crash, and Ron was fallen with a loud outcry rewards from the settee. Harry, who noticed that, rolled, unable to straighten up himself, loudly shouting down the settee.

„Will you pull yourselves together" Hermione sizzled grimly downwards to her friends. "They'll kick us out, because they think you're drunk."

Two heads emerged anew over the table, followed by four arms, which hoisted the two bodys , belonging to the Heads.

„Maybe they regard us as such drunk, that they admit us to St.Mungo´s. I'd always wanted to see Lucius Malfoy in florets-Boxershorts." gaggled Harry. "Right. Maybe Rodolphus Lestrange is there as well. Now that he hasn't got a wife anymore, he can stick with Lucius. They'd only need some black leather-gear and then they can play seaman and tart." Ron squeaked out, and made it in the last second to utter that sentence, before the next laughter fit overmastered him, so that he had to cling himself on the table. His face turned dark blue, because he forgot to breathe because of all that laughing.

What was so ridicules at it?Ih she haden´t given him something to put one, he´d been naked for the rest of his life. Hermione hadn´t got much money and this underwear-combination was on special offer, so she simply had to hit it as it's been on offer at wal-mart.

Voldemort hadn´t said anything, but a single glance was enough for Hermione to recognize, that he, if he have had a phone at his fingertips, had jettisoned all his misgivings against muggle-technics to call the next psychiatry to admit Hermione therein, because that was exactly the moment, Hermione, in his opinion, went insane.

Oh…he shouldn't make such a fuss about it. One single swing with the wand was enough, to turn sky-blue and pink into deep black. That way he put it on. The next special offer she found, was already coloured into grey as she delivered it to him.

And Ron and Harry knew very well, that it had been a question of money.

„Do you still listen to that cuddle-music?" Harry enquired, who appeared to be hell-bent on sitting out this conversation with a even a small rest of dignity, why he watched some dancers on the other side of the room for distraction.

The performers flew on brooms all across the stage. They stood wild dancing on the broomsticks while firing silver curses, flying trough thunderous, outrageous lightening fireworks.

"Erm…well…no. It was no cuddle-music. It was rather an…insert in a trade journal. It was said, that this music would ease tensions and attune peacefully. But it was more a kind of elevator music." Hermione sighed, who now also watched the play on the stage attentively.

The dancers were flown away. Instead of them, 12 other persons faced the audience. They built a circle and took at breathing red, green, blue, silver or golden flames and fireballs , which took the forms of animals. Those animals floated above heads of the fire-breathers-circle, and lacerated each other in time with the music. Impressing, but barbarian. Hermione had to turn away.

„My patient said nothing to it, but after three days, I couldn't stand it myself and now we only here some music from the wizarding wireless network. So, no relaxation-music anymore." Hermione was honestly relieved, she abandoned this part of her plan. Three days of instrumental sleep-music for babies was more as she was able to take.

But she would not give up so fast. And in some way, she had to engage him. Her pedagogical valuable books and magazines told her, that children would need a task, an achievement or a work so to speak, to engage themselves…otherwise they might get up to some mischief. Children would need working and resting periods. Well, lamed as he was, Lord Voldemort had enough resting periods. Voldemort lacked for occupation.

She barley could smuggle a wand to him, only for the reason, he got something to play with. Although he would certainly not burn it. Fortunately, he wasn't able to purpose the goals he had in past any longer. So why shouldn't they try something knew? The idea of kittling was actually not so bad. Really not, Hermione thought forwardly.

Now that she took the bans from his upper body from time to time, he needed something to do. And she truly didn't want to think about the occupation HE would choose.

„Have you already hired him for spew?" Ron went on amusing about Hermiones dedication.

The one he asked hid herself hasty behind an outsized drinks menu, and tried hard to let this look like an interesting reading.

She didn't feel like even thinking about this episode. No, of course, she did not ask the dark lord to join s.p.e.w. She'd only explained the sticker on her cloak to him. Well, the good thing about it was, that the mood-flower´d shone almost white. But…he could have been laughing a bit quieter and not so sneering.

But Ron now had to ask her more serious question. He still smiled at her, but his eyes proved him as a liar. "You still don't want to tell us who he is? Was it him… the one we know? Is it someone we know, at least?"

She couldn't look into his eyes as she answered him. "No, sorry…I must not tell anything about him. Let it, Ron. A quarrel would arise over it again."

„But I'm still worried about it." Ron brooded about those things with a worried mien. "And listening to you makes me feel…well… You do so much for a man I'm not allowed to ask about. In some way I feel sorry for him, but anyhow…". Now he didn't appeared to be amused in any way, in spite of this, he threw a short, anxious glance at Harry, so it came clear to her, that they'd hashed and rehashed this subject before.

„You get him underwear, you're listening to music with him, you even read books to have more ideas, instead of learning school-stuff… I have to confess, I feel a bit jealous of him. You seem to go out of your way to get along with this guy."

Ron was jealous of Lord Voldemort? Now Hermione was the one who entertained her neighbourhood, as she burst out shrill laughing. "Oh, don't worry." She reassured her nervously winking boyfriend, as she patted, a little boastful, recompensing his head. "There's no danger. Not at all."

And she shuddered at the very thought of her first day in the hospital.

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_What do you think about Hermiones therapy trials?_

**_Reviews? :o)_**


	11. What remained from him…

**Beta: Luciun Weasley-Ogg** (kiss for your courage to fight against my experimental English.)

If some sentences still confuse you... blame me. I wrote it that way on purpose

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**Chapter 11: What remained from him…**

He must have been waiting for her. When she went to him, before she was able to think or do anything, again he forced her to take the bans from him.

Afterwards, he'd been sitting on his bed for a quiet while, rubbing his arms and legs as if he was trying to get rid off something irritating, itching. It looked a bit, as if had been attacked by an ant colony and was now trying to shake them off.

As he finished that odd looking activity, he swung he legs over the edge of the bed, grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste, which both lay on his bed table, and began to brush his teeth.

He by no means deserved it, but Hermione was unable to bring herself to starve her "child", and so everyday she brought him some sandwiches, fruits, raw veggies and a few bottles of pumpkin-juice or milk.

Greedy and without a word of thanks, with no regard for her at all, he'd wrestled the canvas bag away from Hermione s hands and dug around with his long, skeleton-fingers as excited in it, as if he was a child that just had found a giant box, full of his favourite sweets.

The bag contained not only his breakfast, but also diverse books, cause she´d intended going to the park after her work and utilising the sunshine to read.

Relieved to the core, it occurred to her, that she hadn't put one of her countless Muggle- or Witches-Magazines about scientifically founded child-education in.

Until now, he'd ignored all her trials to animate him with might and main. The whole thing was already so embarrassing , that he didn't deem it necessary to make fun of it.

But anyway, she hadn't brought those books along today and so all he could do was scrabble around in a disordered bundle of schoolbooks, and none of which seemed to attract his attention. But suddenly he paused, he appeared to be astonished and fraught, while he hesitantly pulled an old, yellowed looking book in a black leather binding out. The book, Hermione had retrieved in…(well summoned from Dumbledores Bureau) the horcurx book.

His long, white fingers clasped the book, while he swayed the book slowly back and forth . with a look of amazement on his face.

Now he clasped the book with one hand to his bent knees, while the other hand stroked almost tenderly along the edge of the cover

The book opened up, he flipped through it, searching for something and as he found it, his fingers glided as gently across letters, as if he didn't want to read, but rather fondle the book.

"Where did you get this?" Voldemort asked, with a threatening expression on his face, that didn't seem to fit with his gentle movements. Once again she felt like a rabbit, sitting in front of the lurking serpent.

„It's from Dumbledores bureau. After Dumbledores death i used a summoning charm to bring it to me. But I think he wanted us to get it, otherwise he'd have protected it better." Hermione heard herself give a much more detailed answer, than she actually wanted to.

Their eyes met, she wanted to break off the eye-contact, to turn her face away from him but she didn't manage it. Again the world around the young women became blurred. She was in a tunnel, she didn´t perceived anytghing to right or to her left. Odours disappointed, noises became silent, feeling faded away… Everything in and around her was washed away, as if they both were jumped into a deep red sea, where every perception, expect for his eyes, trailed off.

Only his eyes, deeper and deeper she was engulfed in this red. Falling down somewhere. Was sucked in. Around her appeared blurred pictures. Shining colour clouds swam trough the red, thickened again to indistinct memories which showed people to her. People she maybe knew sometime. A long time ago. Maybe she even saw herself. Who could tell it?

And as he spoke again, the voice came not from him but from a point deep in herself. "Good. Leave it to me. I will read therein later on."

As he turned his attention back towards the book , she snapped out her her trance back into reality again. He had done it again, and it was so eerie and strange. As if she´d left her own body while he used legilimency and had surrendered her mind to him.

The book was laid aside, then he directed his attention back to the small, canvas bag, and looked, shook and touched it from all sides, pryingly. "Who put the extension charm on this bag?" for the first time his voice did not sound deprecating, but sounded almost complimentary

.

A bashful smile played about her lips, as she, answered unfortunately much squeakier than she had practised at home. "i did it myself. Its just an old bookbag ive had since school I charmed it last year, cause it was important to take as many undetected things along as possible." Her eyes were shining with expectancy and hope for the praise his voice had just promised. But that didn't come, instead of that Voldemort threw the bag towards to her and moved a bit away from her, as if he thought the magic of the mudblood were toxic.

Moderately disappointed, if unsurprised, Hermione stowed her bag away in her cloak, and sat herself on a chair which stood in the opposite side of the room.

Two, remarkably high white metal-chairs stood in the room. Hermiones legs dangled trough the air as she sat on one of them, but they were exactly fitting to his long legs, what brought her to the assumption, that he'd changed the height of the chair…charmed once more, without a wand…

One chair stood besides his bed, the other one, the one Hermione sat on now, besides the white cast iron bathtub, with the silvery serpent-legs.

Here she sat and watched Voldemort carefully above the edge of her book, while he still sitting on his bed, washed himself and brushed his teeth.

Degraded to a chamber-maid, she'd done her work rather fast today. All she had to do was to make his bed and to supply his food. The room cleaned and disinfected itself in the night. Dirt and germs decomposed on their own in the early morning and were soaked up.

Lord Voldemort, who had halfway regained his strength, was even without a wand he had regained his magical skills surprisingly well. Probably much better, than the Aurors and healer expected him to be able to. Otherwise they would base additional guards, not only out front, but also inside his room, wouldn't they?

While he soaped himself awkwardly down, a newspaper floated besides his head whose words seemed to read themselves out. It was not a human voice that sounded in the room and reverberated from the walls. The spoken words sounded like the rustling of paper. So eerie rustling, crinkling and crumpling noised filed the room. Hermione couldn't help being proud of her talented child. But at the same time she was worried, cause what would happen if this talent would one day guide him to a way to take her wand and subjugate her?

Voldemort had never tried to take the wand away from her. He knew about the security-charms which lay on it, but she also knew what he spent every hour, minute even every second thinking about a way to evade those bans. He wouldn't let the door, leading to his freedom, stay closed for one minute longer than necessary

After towelling himself off with great effort, he let himself drop back into the white (strange, but Hermione colouring never lasted very long) pillows to eat something finally.

The "Secrets of the Darkest Art" lay on his bent knees, thoughtfully while chewing he thumbed through the book, which had became his destiny

But after a while, he became agitated, wanted to move and tried to arise from the bed. Rather painfully, after the long time of lying idle, his muscles didn't want to work for him But in the end he managed it

Voldemort walked, no he rather staggered, through the room. lent on his weak arms exhaustedly , on the stand besides his bed for a while. Then he tottered a few steps towards the washbasin, which he clutched seeking help. Always keen on staying upright.

He let go and staggered some more steps back to the bed. Actually out of breath and on shaky knees, he let go of the securing contact and made it up to the cast iron bathtub, without any help. He was so clumsy and uncoordinated , that he'd almost fallen into it. He paused for a moment, sitting on the tub, then he went on stumbling, almost falling down, back to the chair that stood next to his bed.

It took a while. He practised and practised, but in spite of that, Hermione could recognise pride and satisfaction in his usually so serious looking face.

He was like a child, he looked like a little child that just had learned to walk, the way lurched around and explored every corner of the room. But by doing this, he was so ungainly, that he ran against everything that was in, his way. A few times Hermione almost jumped up to help him, because he threatened to fall down. But he did not fall but managed to keep going, and while his eyes were shining with pride and joy about his (re)learned independence, he looked more than ever like a little boy… at least, in Hermiones eyes.

After he made it to the bathtub again, even more exhausted as the first time, his strength left him finally.

Soaking wet with sweat (Hermione decided to rub down her child's back later on,) he was unable to go even one single step on.

It costed him all his strength, as he pulled himself up the tub to sit himself on it. The hands were pressed on the knees, arduously fighting for air, while trying to get his body at least halfway upright, he turned to Hermione. „How did you hear about the horcuxes? I´ve never spoken about it."

Hermione preferred to answer him voluntary, rather than give him a reason to force an entry into her mind again. "Dumbledore knew about it. He had the suspicion since that thing with your diary. But he also secured himself informations from other sources. He collected memories of your past in his pensive. Of course he knew some things, but he also asked Professor Slughorn for example." She watched Voldemort getting more and more tense from the corner of her eyes "And he secured himself memories from other people. The Gaunts for example."

"WHAT?" Voldemort shouted appalled.

As if she had been caught while doing something licentious, Hermione blushed. "From old court files I assume. Professor Dumbledore had been researching very thoroughly. So he learned about the locket, the ring, Helga Hufflepuff's cup…".

Was he now annoyed, saddened or was he thinking about something completely different? In any case, he seemed to fumble for words. It was very painful to know, that Dumbledore and Harry Potter of all people, during their espionage-efforts, had seen things and people he was never allowed to meet. His mother for example. But he would never give himself away by speaking such things out loud …she knew that.

With an annoyed growl he tried to dissuade Hermione from brooding about him and hissed snakelike to her. "I see. I've often thought about how children like you could disclose my secrets. Dumbledore, of course. The puppet master who used you like toys.".

That hurt. It hurt, because it was the truth. At least to a point, cause Hermione was sure, that Dumbledore did all those things with noble intentions. "That may be. But some things we found out ourself. I read the horcrux book when I got it and I have to say…it has appalled me." Hermione confessed, calm and collected again, to the seriously icy faced, pale men.

"You don't understand anything about might or greatness. You´re to weak. Arn´t you?"the tone of his voice was so gentle, but its meaning so contemptuous. Then a bit louder, in his usual commanding tone „ "So, and now you will help me back. I need a rest. You will free me every day from now on. I won't give you the satisfaction of seeing me so weak."

Trembling he rose and leaned himself on Hermione. It required lots of strength to keep her balance while having him leaning on her arm at the same time. But they tottered few steps and the completely exhausted Voldemort laid himself back down into his prison-bed.

He simply saddened her, so angry, stubborn and undiscerning as he was. He had brought so much sorrow to all people, but he didn't care about it. He didn't even conceive the seriousness of his own situation.

Hermione sat beside Voldemort on the edge of the bed she looked like a mother who wanted to tell a bedtime-story to her child. But her eyes were sad as she tried to take the hand of the ghostlike man, who hit her hand aside with an annoyed snarl . "I´ve read so much about it and everything was terrible. Why did you made those horcruxes?"

"To gain immortality and to expand my power. The most important things in life." answered Voldemort in such a unctuous manner, as if he were a priest on a pulpit.

"Oh Tom, have you never –don't look like that, from now an I will call you Tom- thought about what would become of you after all that? What would remain of you?" Hermione lamented.

"What do you mean?" Voldemort appeared to be honestly surprised, as he moved a little away from her and permitted Hermione to plump up the bedspread and tuck him in up to his waist.

"What has remained from you? So many roads were open to you. You were so handsome, clever, talented and promising in the past. "the things you could have achieved… You could have been happy, you could have had a life, if you'd only utilised your skills more properly. "

Voldemorts eyes sparkled with anger, as he sat straight up in his bed again , almost defiantly. "What are you talking about? I am the greatest wizard on earth. No one was up to my power." while speaking, he tapped himself with his forefinger on the chest to corroborate his words, over and over again. "My foes, I've prostrated and defeated all of them. When i fell in the end, it was only because of my own carelessness, no other human being was a match for me. I have outclassed everyone else. And if I would have extended my power, I'd only outplayed myself."

Hermione shook her head and tried to make clear to him, how insane that all was. "Did you never wanted to have a home or a job? Yes you'd pulled the strings, but always in the underground. Did you never wanted to have a family? Maybe Children?"

"The immortal don't need any progeny. I myself am everything I need to attain my aims. I need no one who is closed to me. You…" and he laughed at her spitefully. "you worms, you are weak. Therefore the weak gang together in packs, because they can't survive alone. But I" and again he pointed at himself, even prouder than before. "I'm strong enough to be my own master. More power has never been amassed by any other human. I am legend. I couldn't have achieved more in my life."

"A life that's going to be over soon. A life that's made you powerful, yet not happy just obsessed." Hermione thronged him softly.

Voldemort went increasingly louder, talked himself into rage. "You're a foolish child, How do you know how my life has been? Perhaps it's ending soon, and don't be certain about this, but even then I've still reached every height a man can reach. Even more" he crossed his arms and nodded bracingly to her "i'm more than a man. Men are weak, I am more than that."

He really saddened her. If he would only realise what really had happened to him. "If you'd been courageous enough to be human, you could have lived on and wouldn't be died in the attempt to become a god. Lonely, sick and abandoned."

Voldemort swallowed, not with grief but rather because he thought frantically about how he could punish her for those words, without loosing his servant. But before he found the words, Hermione continued with her considerations. "And at what price? I know what will become of you. You´d fallen in this battle, twice. And the first time you and Harry were there, there you will go back soon. What was still left from you and your soul?"

„BE QUIET! THAT WAS A DREAM. THE BOY INTRUDED INTO MY MIND AND WATCHED MY DREAMS!" Voldemort screamed with rage, but was unable to silence Hermione.

"No, that wasn't a dream and you know it. You've read about horcruxes and you knew what would became of you."

"ENOUGH!" he fumed, roaring with anger while his eyes seemed to try to jump out of their sockets and there was madness were glowing in them.

"If you had only been strong enough to be more than powerful, then you might still had a chance to be something. But now, nothing remained from you. Neither in life nor in death."

„BE QUIET!" Voldemort shouted as swift as an arrow his snow-white hand rocket upwards an clasped her throat, pressed it so hard so could only give a suffocating gargle, while her little hands tried in vain to unclench his tight grip. Voldemort yanked her forwards so her face was so close to his, that the tip of her nose nearly touched his nostrils of his horcrux-transmuted face. Hot breath hit her face her in fits and starts, while his voice shook her eardrums. "BE QUIET! OR I WILL KILL YOU!"

And then...Hermione smiled. Voldemort was so surprised at this, he loosend his grip and stared at her.

Weeks ago, then he could have frightened her. She'd really feared him. But not now. Hasn't his reaction shown how afraid he was of her being right? How desperately he tried to cling to his life? That he didn't want to resign himself to his death? No…he would do nothing to her, because he didn't want to starve or to die of thirst. And he was "scared to death" by the thought of what had happened to him, as he stayed with Harry in the Twilight zone at Harry's king's cross.

This Assurance in her mind, she rose the wand and taped at his forehead to ban him again. Paralysed from the throat down, he toppled backwards like a sack of potatoes. Now he couldn't resist her she laid her hand once more on her child's hand and smiled at him. "You'll can't do it. You can't get rid of me. And you can;t stop me form knowing, that you will be nothing but torn without remorse.

"Maybe we are weak worms in fact. Harry, Ron and me. We didn't had some great plan like you or Dumbledore. But we also won't be lonely."

"It´s lonely at the top. You no nothing about that, girl." Voldemort preached at her again.

"But why should a want to get to the top, if there's no one I could share the things a have achieved with? You and Dumbledore, you had so many things in common. But he was kind-hearted, a better man than you. Maybe he died alone, but he still left people who loved him. And in the end, NOTHING remains for you."

Hermione arose, to leave her child alone. He was desperately angry, but after foretaste of his life after death he knew very well, she was right. Hermione decided not to leave him behind with this thought in his mind. So she wanted to give something else to consider about.

"You wanted to give me legilimeny-lessons. Monday? Is it difficult?"

Seemingly grateful for that discretion, Voldemort grimaced to a grin again. "It's rather a question of giftedness than a question of difficulty." And his matchless "You're only a mudblood" glance told her, that he deeply doubted this giftedness in her.

Well, he should be surprised. Who was she? Just anybody? A worm?

As if. She was Hermione Granger.

And when Hermione, guided be the rattling of the trolley, left the room, she made a new resolve. She would try, no matter how hopeless it may was in Dumbledores mind, to bring a bit humanity back into this man.

If he could realise his situation, realise how much he'd hurt himself, maybe then he was able to see what cruelties he had done to all the other people.

And wasn't she right as she said that something was worth to fighting for?


	12. Orgasm inside the brain

_Sorry, this is only the Beta-Version. I´ll update Chapter 13 (Victims and Offenders) on Tuesday_

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**Chapter 12: Orgasm inside the brain**

Hermione was incredibly excited on Monday. She spent the whole weekend thinking should she should really do this? It was improbable but, he could escape…and it were naive to think, that he wasn't dangerous .

On the other hand…she couldn't rid herself of the thought. Voldemort was said to be the most powerful dark wizard of all time…Since Dumbledore was not alive any more, he was certainly the greatest wizard on earth. And, in opposite to Dumbledore, he was downright keen on experimentation

Sure, his experiments were terrible and cruel… he had no use for harmless magic. But still one thing was clear…the dark Lord was a master of his trade. Gifted as scarcely anybody before, extraordinarily intelligent and comprehensively educated. If he really wanted to share his knowledge with her, than this possibility was to seductive to say no. He could teach her things… that she would never even hear about at Hogwarts. He was a Manipulator. But yet, he fascinated her… she wanted to learn.

Monday again….every day before she went to work, Hermione went to a grocery store close to the hospital. Today she would buy extra food and extra delicious stuff. Voldemort hadn't had anything to eat or to drink since Saturday afternoon. He wouldnt be able to concentrate if he was hungry. Sometimes Hermione tried to imagine, what his life was like. Lying around the whole day, lame, hungry, thirsty… Considering that, he was bearing up surprisingly well.

At the weekend, Hermione bought him more dark clothes from a flea market to cheer him up. Of course, he would prefer wearing a cloak, but that was much to expensive. Often enough she had to ask her parents for money, to satisfy her foster child's basic needs.

Today he did not have to tell her, she loosened the bans voluntary as she entered the room and started running his bathwater. After such a long weekend, he was particularly irritable and weak, Hermione understood this. If she didn't take care for him, he wouldn't feel like teaching her something.

To give herself more time, she told to the Aurors, she would have to do some additional, special psychotherapeutic exercises today. She'd also have to document some things and had to make changes in the room. All this, because she resolved to stay half the day with him.

He was still very weak, especially after lying down all weekend. But he accomplished the feat of getting to the toilet and to the bath tub on his own. Considering the circumstances, she couldn't have given him a greater gift than autonomy.

No words were said about the fight on Saturday. Now he lay in the tub and enjoyed being washed by the warm wet wash cloth, feeling the bubbles prickling on his skin. perhaps it gave him a feel of security. But certainly it made him feel like a human being again.

Hermione conjured herself a writing table, in front of her, a pen lying on the desk, she wrote her daily report now. If she did stay such a long time in here, she wouldn't feel like writing it in the afternoon. From time to time she looked across to her patient. She'd also conjured a table next to the tub, on which she put something to eat and a small-bottle of milk. He lay in the tub, his head resting on the edge and his eyes were closed. Beside him again floated a self-reading paper. Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, had to keep herself from being to impressed by him. Instead of that, she paid her attention back to her work

"What are you writing there?" asked the commanding voice of Voldemort so socked was she by the sudden noise that she knocked the inkwell over and the ink spilled across the desk . The paper stopped reading itself, and she became aware, that he must have been watching her for quite a while.

"I…I'm writing a report. I have to document everything I'm doing here. Everything…" Hermione paused bashfully, no…she'd decided to leave her shyness behind her. "you are do and say. And I thought to myself that it would us take more time today…because of the of the lessons. So I started to write the report now… I want to have a free afternoon."

Voldemort sat up in the bath and glared daggers at her with his piercing red eyes, but Hermione lowered her gaze immediately. She didn't want to make it so easy for him any more.

"What are you writing about me? Read it!" he ordered gruffly, but this time he seemed to be honestly interested. In some way Hermione felt embarrassed about the things she wrote, but he must recognize that she'd permanently broken all the ministry (and the hospitals?) orders. "Actually I'm writing not much about the things I'm really doing here. So much is forbidden. For example, I'm not allowed to give you something to eat, to where… And of course I'm not allowed to speak with you. Or even look at you. And it's absolutely forbidden to take the bans from you." Hermione blushed and looked busy cleaning the ink off. Looking down her knees, she muttered. "Every day I'm coming up with new ideas. In some way, it's always the same things I'm writing down. But by now, I'm pretty good at restating the same things every day in a new way.

"Why you doing all this?" he asked totally perplexed. Hermione shrugged.

"I don´t know. I think to myself… I wouldn't like to be in this situation. Without anything to eat…naked…." But Voldemort had already turned away from her. He had no use for such exotic things like compassion anyway. Instead he climbed out of the tub and put his clothes on. She'd got to hand to hand it to him. once he took something into his head, he didn't gave up.

After he'd done this and had rested for a while, he stood, astonishing firmly, in front of his bed looking as if he would wait for her to begin reading the report.

"Well, let us start now. Come here, girl." Voldemort ordered, pointing in front of him to the floor, Obediently Hermione approached him, a chair under her arm. They would do the lessons sitting, he had already told her so.

Wrapped in black clothes, standing upright and barking commands, he reminded her so much of the Voldemort she used to know in past, it raised her hackles and ice-cold shivers ran down her spine.

And he was so tall. In the past she had never come so close to him to notice how tall he really was. Now, standing in front of him, her eyes only reached his chest and his lower throat. The whole time she cared for him, he'd been so helpless, shivering and weak…he had looked almost tiny to her. But now…straight, upright…he looked so big so daunting, and…great to her. Shrunken and unconfident once more, Hermione took three steps back. Voldemort stalked her. Seeming to appraise what he could to her and what not.

He's like a psychologist, Hermione thought to herself. He sees people and detects only by the tone of there voice or the way they move, the pose of their body how he has to handle and to treat them, to achieve his objectives. But what objectives he might pursue with her?

Temporarily he'd probably decided to start with the announced lessons.

"Well, girl." The cold voiced launched, into a speech. „From what I heard, you are a relatively intelligent for a mudblood. Which charms have you learned so far?" out of his mouth, that bordered almost on a compliment. Therefore Hermione resolved to forget the "modblood" and started instead to tell him the content of her last two school years along general lines. And also about what else she'd learned and done beyond her school lessons.

Voldemort listened to her silently, on and off he nodded to show, he was still following her, but yet he didn't appear surprised about her obvious work enthusiasm and thirst for knowledge. "You're 18 but you haven't finished your school year. Why not?" he probed instead.

„Well…" she wanted to sound self-confident, but all that came out was a nervous chatter, how could she explain to him of all people what she'd done last year, without risking an new fit of rage? "last school year. Erm…Ron, Harry, and I…" she harrumphed nervously and watched him from the corner of her eyes. "We didn't go to Hogwarts at all. We were occupied with…" Hermione lowered her eyes under the increasingly cold gaise of Voldemort. "We were busy…Dumbledore told us to…erm…we wanted to kill you." And as she ended that sentence, she handed herself the award for the most morbid speech in history.

Voldemort starred at her expressionless for a while, then he nodded and went on speaking in a emotionless manner. "Yes, of course. Well, fundamentally it doesn't matter if you have already finished the school or not. What I'm going to show you now isn't included in the Hogwarts curriculum anyway. I think your previous knowledge should suffice."

He'd positioned the both chairs facing each other and told her to sit on one , while letting himself glide into his chair with snake-like elegance. He sat crossed legged in front of her, absolutely poised and open. He was so self-reliant… what a glaring contrast to Hermione, who sat there tensed like a rubber band, all possible body parts knotted into each other while her face was populated by countless red spots..

„Is it a dark art. Legillimency?" Hermione broke through the silence.

Voldemort clicked his tongue noisily and bent forwards arms crossed. It looked as if he'd been waiting for that question, because he started immediately factually and fluently, to spread his position out to Hermione.

"The classification into light and dark magic is actually irrelevant. You should have been realising, that such classifications are strongly depending on the respective position. Dark arts" he commented with a contemptuous laugh. „The dark arts are what such people like Dumbledore are afraid of, because it means empowerment. And why is Dumbledore afraid of this?" the brow raised expectantly" seemingly wanting to rip the answer out of her. But Hermione was sure about her opinion, it was just to obvious. "Because they´re evil. The dark arts are a kind of magic that inflicts damage to other people intentionally." Hermione answered, more or less learned by heart.

"WRONG!" Voldemort cut her short with a loud shout, while his hands preformed a "time-out" gesture. Then he hit himself forcefully on the knee, with his fist. "Dumbledore despised the dark arts, because he was attracted by them. He feared them, because he desired them himself. Similar to something else, he'd also been desiring, from what I heard. Unwilling to confess that to himself, he'd shut it away."

Hermione shrugged with a fake indifference. No, this allusion to Grindelwald was just to stupid to react to. But the dark lord was already calm again, he settled back and pointed with his outstretched forefinger on his legs. "What do you think what kind of magic the bans are, on me?" Honestly surprised Hermione unknoted her arms and legs. "But that was done by the healers."

"Certainly, to dominate me. Look at this way. Light magic creates something new, the dark arts dominates to If that's good or evil. "once more he laughed sneering at these words. "That all depends on the purpose behind the spell. But it's always a matter of might and power. There are people who have the talent and the courage to use those arts, but there are also the weak ones, who cannot or will not use them."

In Hermiones ears that sounded, as if he would label everyone with ethics or a conscience automatically as dumb. Yes, that might be the case. "Good. Let´s start. Maybe you are right. It depends on the intention." She was already nervous enough, she shouldn't delay things unnecessary.

Looking supremely contended, he sat up to face her, and gave the impression as if he now wanted to explain the charms to her. But suddenly, there was something out of harmony with that picture. If Hermione hadn't known any better, she would have thought he was embarrassed by something.

Agitated he shifted about on his chair, turned away from her gaze, compressed his thin lips and seemed to think about something.

He bit into his lips and Hermione discovered the familiar tantalised look on his face he always put on, if he had to say something friendly, pleasing to her.„If I am to teach you these things, then i shall need to show the wand movements to you. I need a…well, something that I can show you with. " he said in a tone, which one had called bashful at other people.

Hermione nodded and grasped behind her on the trolley, took the first longish object she found and gave it to the confused looking ex dark Lord.

"This is a toothbrush." He snarled indignantly at his student.

„It will serve it's purpose." answered the unexpectedly relaxed Hermione, tapped on the toothbrush with her wand, which turned into something, that was very similar to Voldemorts former yew wand

"It's only a toy." Hermione remarked, frantically endeavoured not to look at Voldemorts rage-filed face. "But it will do to show the movements."

pure cynicism seemed to be radiate out of him, as he recovered himself again, moved himself back onto the chair and went on, collected but determined. "Well, all right. Do we begin with legilimency or occlumency?".

Hermione hesitated, adjusted herself on the chair and sighed. That was not an easy decision. The manner he penetrated into her mind, when he was inside her head, that was frightening and moreover, she didn't really know if she should let him, as he was not infirm any more, but angry because of the toothbrush-wand, But on the other hand…IF he taught her occlumency, that would be the end to all those things. So occlumency first was a reasonable choice….but in spite of this alluring idea of safety, she decided against it. Maybe it was due to the curiosity of entering other peoples head. Or the curiosity to feel like him, for just a little while… "First I want to learn legilimeny". Hermione answered therefore a little unassertive,

"Good, then look here, girl. I'll show it to you, don't just memorize my gestures, but also the sound and the intonation of my voice. The accent of the curse is important as well." Voldemort waved his brush-wand in a snake-like pattern with the, bent forward, and flowed her mind around as she spoke a commanding. "Legilimens."

In fact she´d been waiting for a new attack against her mind, but that failed to appear. He might want to be sure, she stayed attentive. So the cold, gruff voice sounded again clear to her. "Did you listen to me? Did you attend?"

Hermione nodded. „I think so. But there's something I don't understand. Why the wand? You´ve done it so often to me…at me… and you've nether needed a wand,"

The self-importance in his boastful voice resonated through Hermione. "YOU need one. I don't. I can do many things with my mind or by the deliberately use of my voice. That's another kind of magic. Be grateful if you meanwhile manage to command the wand."

He stared at her with an unreadable expression. "So, now it's your turn. And something else has to be clear to you. You've got to look deeply into my eyes. With enough talent, and if your targets are weak enough, you may find a way to invade into a mind without a wand. But it's easier if you hold eye contact. YOU!" and once more he threw the well-known "What can once expect from a mudblood?"-glance at her. "´You've got to hold eye contact to me now."

She tried hard, she wanted to, but as she leant forwards to get close to him, to dive into those blood-red eyes for the first time, she became more and more nervous. Couldn't concentrate on his cruel face.

The pale figure of the tall man in front of her reminded her so much of a skull, now more then ever as his face was distorted by an evil smirk and his eyes began to glow like living rubies.

"Are you scared of me?" again this question and the answer was still the same. Yes…as she looked at him, then he still overawed her. More than ever, because now, with a "wand", sitting upright and only a few inches away, looking down at her, then he was the dark lord again she had to chase and kill, an eternity ago…this spring.

And he knew it, eyed her fear and seemed to soak his effect on her into him. A well known pleasure. How long is it since he could last savour tantalising other peoples? But soon his face went serious again.

The skeleton-like fingers grabbed her chin roughly and lifted her face up, till she had to look into his eyes, so he could look daggers at her…

"You must look into my eyes. Else it won't work. That wasn't a trick question. If you are scared of me, the charm won't work."

Hermione nodded, though she thought to herself that his hand on her throat was not conductive to the fear relief. But then he spoke on calmer now. "Good. Listen to me now. I won´t do anything to you during the lesson. I won´t force you to do something you don't want. I will not try to rape or to kill you." And for reasons Hermione didn't understood herself, maybe because of the magic that inhered in his voice, she believed him and became relaxed.

"It's a matter, as i told you, of wielding power about over other peoples mind, and dominating, exploring and also influencing and changing it. But such charms only succeed, if you know exactly what you want. If you're nervous or scared, it doesn't work. You can only dominate other people, when you're not afraid of them,

You must know exactly what's in your head, what you're doing. The wand doesn't think, it's doesn't mind what you're doing with it. You've got to feel and to want the charms you want to perform. Did you get that?" Hermione nodded obediently and tried to follow her new teachers words.

"You cannot simply repeat memorised formulas. You've got to mean what you're saying. Realise the meaning of the spells then it won't matter which words you're saying. If your mind controls the wand, words are not important any more. You can even confuse you foes by using wrong curses while you're performing other charms.

Let your mind and you will turn into hands, able to seek, grab and modify. Other peoples mind have to became a mouldable mass in those hands. I'm now going to show you pictures and thereafter you describe to me what you've seen. So…and now you."

Just when Hermione started to do the wand movement, another question acurred to her, and it made sense to clear it up before she started. "But what will I see? I mean…" a bashful little cough should help her to talk about her misgivings. „if I should see to much… won't you get angry?"

"I can control myself." Voldemort barked at her cold and dismissive. „You will only see what i am willing to show you. You should try to get into me as far as you are able to. You won´t get further than I allow it. But start now, girl." Voldemort urged her full of impatience.

Bent forwards again, ready for Hermiones curse, he was closer to her than he had ever been before. Could she really dominate him? She had have to confidence in that to herself . Had to work up all her Gryffindor-courage, cause what was facing her was a powerful warlock and not an infirm, ill child. But still, it tempted her all to much, to try it not.

Hermione took a deep breath, tightened herself and then… "Legilimens" her voice sounded. The wand pointed on him, sitting upright, searching for eye.-contact and willing to receive it. But nothing happened… What was to blame for it? What had she done wrong? Once more he showed the movement and the pitch to her, and she tried it again… Still nothing. But at the third time, she felt it.

A strange tickling crept over her, as she dived again into his eyes, but this time she was the one who pulled him inside her.

Pictures flowed into her. First blurred but soon cleared up. A landscape that reminded her of a forest. It was the forbidden forest she went through. The landscape blurred again and now she was in the centre of the battle. Green flashes left her wand and she saw them falling down, she the people she hit sinking on the floor. The people she killed…saw their lifeless eyes but it did not matter, she did not care about them…

"NO"! Hermione moved backwards. "Why do you show me that?" she shouted at him upset.

"What?" he returned unmoved.

"The battle, I've seen people dying, they have suffered. I don't want to see that, don't show me something from the battle. Show me something else."

"Do you really believe the other pictures a could show you would be different?" he commented moderately bored. She was shocked, could it really be that there was NOTHING more peaceful in him to watch? Again she felt sorrow inside her, because of that confession. Or wasn´t it rather abhorrence?

"Is there nothing at all you could show me from your life. Something nicer or more peaceful?" she begged to him in the hope of nether really feeling THIS mind inside her.

"Something peaceful?" Voldemort appeared honestly surprised, averted his gaze, curled the lips and knitted his "brows". Again Hermione was struck. Was it really so hard for him to evoke a pleasant memory?

But seemingly something occurred to him. "Good. I think that should suffice. Try it again."

And Hermione obeyed, raised her wand and again the pleasurable feeling from just before flushed her. She soaked him in, and now there were other pictures. Again in a forest, she did not have to ask, she knew that is was an Albanian forest. The day was dawning. The leaves around her were still wet, cause it had been raining last night. The forest soil was slippery, but soft because of the leaves and the mud it was covered with. The air wasn't cold, but fresh and reeked of rain. She glided smooth as a snake, without joints and hence unlimited through the cool glade underneath her and was aware of the luscious red, in which the sky was dived.

But something else, the longer she glided along, soaked the thoughts of the moment in and looked around, the more pleasurable flow the electrifying feeling around her. Spread out and crept into every inch of her body. It felt so good, she could dominate it, channel it… and her body burnt by the feeling of being able to dominate.

A soft moaning left her lips, it was unfamiliar, frightening and yet exciting…. But then… it was is if something would press against her mind, an invisible hand push her put of that memory and forced her to perceive her chair, also the cold room around it, again.

"What did you see?" the pale figure bent full of curiosity forward to her, even closer than before and appeared honestly interested.

"I've seen you in Albania, in a forest. It was morning and I think you took possession of a snake." The still a bit dazed Hermione summarised the facts. After he nodded agreeing to her, she decided the mention the other thing as well. "But I felt so strange It was so… so… I don't know, not unpleasant…. I bevlieve it was related to the charm."

A big grin spread across Voldemorts face, his eyes sparkled knowing and he proved her suspicion true with a conspiratorial whisper. "Yes, I know. That belongs to the dark arts. You experience power."

First his voice sounded cold, yet now it softened, I seemed as if he wanted to confide a secret to her.

Promising…that would fit, it sounded almost indecent, as he approached with his chair, a hungry expression in his eyes, and whispered: "

Magic is might. These are no empty words. The kind of magic I can show to you imparts immense power to you and yes…this power is really intoxicating. The dark arts, as you call them, are not tempting because they are unpleasant. At least not to you." he got even closer to her and Hermione leant herself involuntary backwards, away from him but still she couldn't elude from the greedy look in his eyes. Hermione gulped, her mouth went dry and she could feel what he was talking about. Only by the sound of his words he evoked the need in her to perform those forbidden, dark charms. Now was so close to her, that their knees contacted. His mouth so close to her ear, she felt the warm breath caressing her throat and tickling inside her ear conch, as he spoke on insistently. "Might is exciting. Performing some powerful charms is as exciting as an orgasm inside your brain."

She couldn't help looking at him closely. As he spoke full of enthusiasm about the excitation he felt during these charms, the charms she might taste now too, it was as if they just had experienced something sexual together. It seemed as if he'd got to restrain himself by the thought of his own overwhelming power, from having to lay his hand on himself to touch, or even touching her.

"it´s overwhelming. You´ll feel absolute power over other people. You may call it evil, but it's an mind-blowing feeling and in any way…seductive. Believe me. But…" and all of a sudden his voice was a cold and dismissive as usual, and he slid backwards like a snake onto his chair. "Fear and Weakness will undo it. You've got to want it, you've got to feel the might inside you…feel how it's rolling over you and pervades you. Only then it's effective."

Hermione nodded agai, even if she was unsure if she was ready for what he'd been depicting to her in so seductive colour. In some way it sounded as if he was sexually satisfied by the power of his charms, or as it were a drug with an egregiously strong effect.

If Marx said religion was opiate of the masses, power was heroin to Voldemort. An incomparable high and sense of delight. Impossible to close one's mind to it, yet made everyone who tasted it after only a few try addicted to it, increasingly demanding for more.

Yeah, that fits very well, Hermione thought to herself. Voldemort, who'd, by his own statement, barely indulged himself in material or sensual pleasures, let himself be intoxicated by his own power and became a slave to himself. At the beginning of his life, he owned nearly nothing from that… and as he'd discovered the magical world, came out with his unbelievable gifts, he couldn't help from getting more and more of these drugs… Power, fear and maybe…respect. Somewhere on his way away from being unimportant, he developed another intention…and strived to be a god-like. Yes, that's what he thought to himself. The only way to make sure that he wasn´t usual, was to be a god.

And in the end, as it seemed, Voldemort would die on a overdose of his own drug.

The moment their eyes met, she knew it. She did not have to use legilimency to know that at this very moment, they were thinking exactly the same thing. There he was, the greatest warlock of all time, probably the most powerful wizard on earth…and perhaps he only had to stretch his long fingers a bit forward and he were armed with a wand and could do more harrowing things to her, than she would ever be able to invent herself.

He could put her under the imperious curse…he could escape. His glance fell on the wand which rested in his hand. His eyes were attracted by it, he didn't seemed to realize that that, what he felt cold and smooth beneath his white fingertips, possessed no power and was only a toy.

He could overpower her effortlessly, could kill the Aurors in front of his door fast as a snap of the fingers. And he would be free again. He could take possession of other people, could make himself invisible and or could transfigure himself. But first of all, he would kill her, because she was a witness of his shame and weakness.

His long, white fingers rolled the wand slowly back and forth. An portentous smirk played about his lips. His glance glided away from her to his hands and it seemed, as if he would not held a wand but seduced a beloved.

But then, It might have lasted only a second, he seemed to have abandoned this idea. As if he was sobered up from a inebriation, it might have become clear to him, that the wand in his hand didn't possessed any magical power. That he, even if he succeed to relieve the wand from Hermione, it still would be more than improbable that he couldn't manage to break through the bans and the legions of Aurors around the hospital. So he abandoned this thought and yield up to his fate for now.

After they'd practised Legilimency together for a few days, he went on and showed occlumency to her. That was very important to Hermione, after she experienced for herself how intoxicating that kind of magic was, she didn't want to seduce Voldemort voluntary to use those spells on her. She didn't want to be like easy prey to him.

She needed a shield, something to enclose her mind from him. And contrary to her fears, the occlumency lessons weren't unpleasant. He looked inside, and what he saw there didn't seem to arose much interest in him and after a few tries, she managed it to push him out of her mind. Probably he didn't took to much pain to stay inside her…but no matter, she'd understood the principle. And actually she'd planed before that this should do it. Actually… but her "Master" must have been right. The cosy shivers that pervaded her every time she used this magic, were just to seductive to forget.

And all those things were so unutterable easy to him. In his opinion he wasn't even the teacher who taught her reading or writing. He only showed to letters to her she would might one day need to build words. And Hermione never was able to resist when it came to extending her knowledge.

So she brought along some books on the following day, to discusses with him…in a way she never could have done so with Ron or Harry.

And he always engaged with going through all her questions side by side. It was eerie and fascinating at the same time, to share in his talent, his knowledge and his abilities.

Voldemort was not a particularly patient or friendly teacher, but being allowed to watch the master at work was worth to bear all his taunts and insults. And as she stowed her books into her cupboard in the leaky cauldron in the end of the week, she was sure that she'd learned more in the last few days than in the whole 6. year in Hogwarts.

The dark lord, although she didn't want to call him that was incredible. His arrogance, his pride and his skills provided an aura of might and power to him, so strong, it even couldn't be harmed by the seedy, cold room or the much too large clothes Hermione had given to him.

Everyday she took along books, pinfeathers and parchment. Now she didn't write her faked reports at home any more, but at his sickroom. Even read them to him, and he never got tiered of commenting, giving her advise and correcting (so Claris really could read something new every day)all those reports, till he allowed her to deliver them to Claris. After she'd done that, she sat down twice as long to write down the orders, advise and commands he gave her.

Only two hours a day were'nt enough anymore. Sometimes she spend, without noticing it till she came home, half-day with him. And because this time was so valuably to their lessons, because he said he had first wanted to refer to some books before he told her something new and needed rest to prepare the new lessons, because it seemed a waste of time to watch him during his personal hygiene…because of all those things, she "forgot" it more and more often to lay the bans on him before she left the room.

How shocked they would be at Hogwarts, if she now finally made it to triumph over all her teachers in her last year. Well…over some teachers. Not over Snape for example. She would never be able to triumph over him. Cause he was already dead. Killed by him, Lord Voldemort.

How much she'd like to tell Ron, Harry or even Ginny about all this. They'd certainly understand how mind-blowing the experience was to her, to be flooded with new knowledge in such a manner. By him…the terror of the magical world.

No matter how thin and weak he had been on her first days at Mungo´s, she adored him more and more. What a luck she always had his death was kept in her mind. That she'd internalised his death as a fact. Otherwise he might have managed to seduce her, quite the way, he'd seduced so many other wizards and witches before.

But Hermione also knew, that HE normally had never stooped himself so low as to show an 18year old mudblood all his secret skills.

But conjuring and power were his weak points, and since no one else was around him but Hermione to pass his time, he put all his energy on their common hours…thought Hermione.

Voldemort himself never seemed to be satisfied with her achievements, no matter how much she deemed her new abilities as a miracle herself. Even though no day passed without dispraises and reprehension, the very fact he still gave her new lessons and he agreed every day again to discuss with her about all her books and questions, was proof enough to make sure he regarded her as gifted.

Hermione beamed with pride about hours as he commended a self-developed charm with "Yes, quite well done." An unbelievable compliment for a man like him.

But in spite of everything, Hermione felt how those lessons changed her. At least in the relationship with him. More and more she looked forward to their common hours. Every morning she waited impatiently till she could be with him again. He was unbelievable, fascinating.

She felt ashamed of herself cause she knew very well about Voldemorts great talent. He always could beguile the ones, who were useful to him. Could detect all her secret wishes and fears and could make them believe, at least in the beginning, that he had/was exactly what they'd been searching for. And Hermione enjoyed it all too much, to be washed around by his talent.

An orgasm of the brain…how fitting that was. That was exactly the way, she felt about her lessons.

Of course they didn't speak about his crimes. Her plan to reverse HIM was pigeon-holed. That was pretty slick of him, that she'd got to hand it to him.

Ron, that was for definite, was the one she loved and she would probably got married to one day. But he couldn't give some things to her-. She'd wished for years to meet someone around her, she didn't have to look mentally down.

Dumbledore had certainly been fascinating, but she'd never got so close to him like Harry did. Had never been his personal student.

No matter how evil the dark Lord was, he impressed her. So much, she drank all the knowledge he offered to her. As greedy as a parched she sucked in everything he showed to her. The lessons in school had never been a real challenge to her, something to grow along with. She never was thwarted here, never ran the risk to be labelled as a nerdy creep.

No, even Voldemort seemed to be more confident, easier. It was overkill to call the manner he treated her good or friendly, but it was obvious it was a pleasure to him having such a gifted student.

Sometimes Hermione felt, as if she was his heir. As if he wanted to press as much knowledge in her as possible, in the short time that was left to him. And most of the time she felt, is if her head would surely burst about all the new things she'd learned.

But then… when she was back in the burrow and listened to all the funny but sometimes terrible smatterings…and looked to the empty chair near George… the place where Fred had used to sit… When she felt the pain about all the deaths, even worse as ever before. And the bad conscience that always comes along, if one fraternises with the enemy.

She was afraid of becoming evil herself, so embracing she assimilated him. She was also afraid of getting more resemble to him. To fall for him…how much other people he might have committed to himself that way? Had seduced them and veered them away from what they used to be in past.

As he did it to Snape, till reality became so much crueller obvious to him, yet the way to returned was blocked by his dark bog.

Some days she ridiculed at Harry and Ron, because they would never dare performing certain charms, therefore would never feel the prickling feeling of pure might which arose in her, every time she had her lessons. Sometimes she missed a common basis for a conversation with her parents, who knew so less about the things that moved her those days.

No he wasn't her child any more, maybe her teacher, that seemed to fit better. And ever and ever again the frightful idea, he could take possession her, could contaminate her…as if he was toxic. As if he had a contagious, fatal disease.

But still… he was like an addiction. Nevertheless it was good and facilitating to talk with someone who loved knowledge as much as she did.

Privily , there she noticed it…he manipulated her. He gave her what she needed, fed her with his views till she was full and allowed her to ask him so many questions about all ways of magic, so they had after all those clever discussions, no time to take about morale or ethics.

Yes…deep in her head, if she dared investigating herself, she had to agree with those who ever told her, that the dark Lord was a master of temptation. And a master of distraction. As long as he fed her, he had a rest from thoughts which were rootedly unpleasant to him.

Those lessons lasted about a month, but then Hermione had to take a rest. Wanted badly to refrain from him and his dangerous speeches, which sometimes even appeared to make sense to her.

That day, he told her how he transmigrated inferi… Not what she'd ever wanted to do so, but was still interesting to her about. But otherwise…did she really have to know THAT?

Should she really allow such things to find their way into her knowledge and her skills? So they'd arranged to break their lessons. He almost appeared disappointed.

But maybe it was only, because he feared the boredom waiting of him, then he's clever head had again nothing others to do than counting the days till his end.

But the worst of all was… sometimes she almost liked him.

She probable did as he told her, his first of all book in the magical world was "Hogwarts, a history."

Those days she understood Dumbledore so very well, how he got beguiled by the enthusiasm, the clever mind and the evil charm of Gellert Grindelwald…cause the same thing happened between her and Voldemort.


	13. Offenders and Victims

_Beta Version is coming soon. And a big kiss to **Luciun Weasley-Ogg** because he´s strong enough to do this_

* * *

**Chapter13: Offenders and Victims**

Hermione sat together with Voldemort in his bed. He, cross-legged at the footboard, Hermione squatted on her knees, sat at the headboard. Sidewise next to them, floated a plastics-bowl filled with fresh, ruby-red strawberries which pervaded the whole room with a slightly sweet flavour.

In Hermiones educational efforts to bring some sense in Voldemorts uneventfully daily routine, she'd started this week to play games with him. Card games and games of dice. He wasn't particularly enthusiastic at first, yet he agreed after all. The oppressive boredom of his last days might made him doing so. Even though he had preferred to play chess, a game Hermione had no command of. He offered to teach it to her, if she would bring a board along… but anyhow, at least they had to do something at all. Actually she'd liked to play LUDO with him, but by the very thought of with WHOM she'd liked to play that, added by and the not negligible danger to get angry during the game) , this idea forbade itself.

They broke the their lessons two weeks ago. That time, while he taught her charms and forbidden secrets, he appeared calmer, more confident and was relaxed. So she'd been right, he needed a task…something that was more captivating to him as knitting elves-heads. But on that way she allowed him and his body of thought to find their way into her thoughts. So the brunette girl came up with new ideas for distraction…and until anything what made sense would come out by these cogitations, they would keep on playing games.

Today they played for the strawberries, Hermione had bought them before she went to St.Mungo´s. For every won game, one was allowed to take five strawberries. After Voldemort had won 5 times in series the card game, she decided to change the game. It was all too obvious that he was mercilessly cheating. However he managed to do this…

So they diced now. They played with 5 dices. Each of them should dice a total of 20times… till now they both diced already 19 times and their match was drawn. Voldemort had the turn again and diced an each of the five dices seven. SEVEN?

„Hey. HOLD IT!" Hermione launched into an peeved protest, but then he raised his head and the most innocent smile Hermione had ever seen appeared in front of her eyes…and she smiled back.

Yes, some days she almost liked him.

Wherefore she was a witch? Hermione felt for the wand she concealed in the sleeve of her cloak, where he couldn't see it… and diced… five "nines". Contentedly chuckling she grabbed for the bowl with the remaining strawberries and jumped from the bed, to stow the dices back into her beaded back.

He in contrast, grabbed quietly grumbling for the probe bottle besides him. Today, on Monday, there was a new sort for him. Till now, he only got chocolate all the time, but today Hermione found bottles with something filled, she supposed to be vanilla.

Not really worthy of a Lord, but because Hermione had just prevailed over the last strawberries and he still felt a hunger , he had for better or for worse to satisfied with that.

Voldemort launched into a deep gulp and emptied to bottle to three quarters, in order to put it thereafter back on the bedside locker besides his bed.

The long legs knotted to a tailor sit, he began shortly after to stagger a little. The suddenly trembling hands glided across his face, as if he would try to wipe something off his skin. Over and over again, while he swayed himself back and forth and the cold sweet let the pale skin shine. The mouth a little opened, his breathing became increasingly louder.

Uncertain what was to do, Hermione stopped in front of him next to the sink and watched the strange behaviour of the dressed in merely black underwear man. "Are you okay?" Anxiously she noticed the increasingly glassier getting gaze and the slightly abstracted expression in the face of her patient. "What´s wrong with you?" Hermione asked the heavier staggering, swaying man. Even though she wasn't sure at all, if he was able to hear her, as she looked in his other-worldly mien. He had to take one hand from his face to put it in front of him on the bed to support himself. The other hand still felt around the back of his head, his lips, eyes, the rest of his nose… "I…I….strange." he gargled, while his eyes rolled up in his head and before she could catch him, he tilt forward on his pillow. But not unconscious, cause he made it to turn himself from his stomach on his side, the legs lifted on his chest to an embryo position.

„Tom…?" she felt unsure as she called him by his name, so she hadn't called him by any of his many names at all, said always just "you". But now that didn't matter anyway, because he didn't seem hearing her, neither perceiving anything around him at all. Heavily and noisily breathing, he moved even deepen in into his pillow.

The worried Hermione sat herself on the edge of his bed, uncertain what else to do, she shook him with her outstretched arms carefully. "Can you hear me?"

Slowly, as in trance, he turned his head towards her direction, but didn't seem to look at her. The pupils small like sharpened pinheads, scampered wildly around in the redness of his eyes, as if they'd try to dance. He mumbled something, real softly… she steadied her bushy braid by pinning it up and bent down downwards, so she could understand what was saying, so close to his mouth, that her ear almost touched his lips and the warm breeze of his heavy breathing tickled on her earlap. "Tired. Want to sleep." Was all she heard. What was that again? Rather confused than worried, she straightened up again und slid from the bed. A moment before clear and awake, he couldn't tilt over simple as that.

What has happened…shortly before…? The probe bottle on the trolley caught her eyes. The probe bottle with the new flavour Vanilla in it. The new bottle Helen had put into her shed this morning.

Hermione drew her wand, carefully balancing what was to do now, she sneaked up to the Vanillafood. She only had to tip it quickly and her assumption turned into certainty. The viscous broth in the pellucid bottle started blistering, and pressed a kind of powder onto the surface. The both substances parted with each other, so that a thin film of something, that evocated her of brown sugar, formed above the still ivory-coloured Vanilla-liquid. Hermione took the bottle and repaired to the door. She wasn't sure if the bottle had cracked as it was opened, or had somebody done that before he did, to fill in a poison? Well, something had been filled in, that was obvious. She turned around carefully, as she reached the door and glanced to her still heavily breathing fosterling, who lay with semi-closed eyes in his bed. His hands consistently clenched to fists, just to be relaxed and opened again. As if he would search something in the palm of his hands. She would let him lie like this, he wasn't able to act that good, he wasn't simulating.

The decision in her mind, to come back soon, she let her patient without bans back in his bed, as she hurried out to seek for Helen…who filled the board in the locker every monday anew.

Helen charged the spell damage ward. Voldemort was actually, after he was hit by his own spell, admitted into Helens ward. But he shouldn't be put with one of his victims into a room because of comprehensible reasons, moreover it seemed to be dangerous to admit him without additional safety measures at all, and because the ministry wanted to keep his survival a secret for a while, he was brought to the special wing, that was used as a forensic ward in former times. Better said, in the times of Voldemorts first powerful days.

Yet officially, it that was the correct expression what with all these secrecies, Voldemort was still in the spell damage wing, so his care was organised by Helen. Hence, so thought Hermione, she had to show the bottle to Helen… and that was for sure, she would never go to Claris again if she had a problem.

She found the blonde charge nurse in a nurse-lab, where she, cheery whistling, was just busily engaged with mixing new healing potions together for her patients. Hermione got spontaneously the urge to ask Helen for her potion lessons at Hogwarts. Who had taught that subject before Snape? Helen had been a Hufflepuff, so much she'd already told her. But regarding to her age, she must have known Snape as a student.

Hermione approached with an outstretched arm, waving the evidence to and fro and swept into the lap, unsure if she should either be concerned or angry. The blonde nurse glanced surprisingly up from her work as she saw Hermione coming over to her, but as her eyes were caught by the probe bottle in Hermiones hand, she nodded to the younger one with a conspiratorial, knowing smile.

Helen bent over to her and jabbed her pally with the elbow in the rips. Hermione didn't know what that was supposed to mean, as Helen bent with a mystically smile on her lips down to her ear and aspirated a gentle "Sedatives. Bloody stronge ones." Into her ears.

She was so close to her face, Hermione saw all the wrinkles the years have drawn into Helen´s friendly face and felt her warm breathe on her forehead as she turned around to look into Helen´s blue eyes, wherein she saw her own mirror image reflecting. Helen curled her lips and out her surprisingly gentle forefinger onto Hermiones lips and whispered. "Don´t pass on. That´s my

surprise for you. I´ve ordered to fill it into the probe bottles in the morning. Did he drink it? Therewith he's out of action until the next morning. Great, isn't it?"

Helen beamed with pride all across her face and a bell-like, high and clear , cheery little-girl-laugh leaked out of her mouth. Her face became covered by a slight red, hunched her shoulders, clasped her hands in front of her chest and appeared like a little child, who just had painted a picture for his mother and now awaited a joyful compliment.

„Erm… thank you." The confused Hermione heard herself answering from far away. Helen snickered happily and attended herself back to the potions, while she ventilated her surprise to Hermione with a portentous mien.

"You know, I was simply worried about you. You…alone with him… As he was so apathic the whole time, then that was still possible. But now, since he's awake for such a long time… you know." Helen, an ampoule in the one hand and a pipette in the other one, straightened up for a short while, to look honestly anxious into Hermiones brown eyes. "I´ve heard so many things about him…"

Fast she bent forward again, above the table and started to drip a bluish substance out of the big ampoule into a yet empty, smaller ampoule. Thereafter she added without the pipette a few spatters of a green liquid, and accomplished sounding unselfconscious again. "You can give it to him every day, if you like. I've checked the quantity. I can give you some bottles to take away, right now. Must not be taken out of the hospital of course, and…" waggishly giggling, Helen added a wagging forefinger. "You´re also not allowed to taste it. But you can give it to him. Do you want some to takeaway?"

"Yes, sure." Hermione tried to sound honestly enthusiastic. „But isn't it dangerous to him? What is it?"

„Morphia." Helen reported proudly, shrugged jollily buzzing her shoulders, as she shook the screwed down ampoule like a bartender around.

"I say!" she placated with a throwaway gesture. "He's fine. He's just totally spaced out. Tss…that we hadn't hit in it earlier." the charge nurse added with a friendly smile, unbelievingly shacking her head about her own lack of ideas.

Hermione received five further bottles, Helen pressed into her arms, with a tantalised smile. "I´m leaving today a bit earlier. Already at 14 o´Clock. Won't we go out for some pizza together?" the obviously good-humoured witch fluted. Hermione nodded unsure and found simply no words for what was going on in her head.

Helen beamed. „Great, I´m glad. See you later." Looking like a waitress in a restaurant, Helen raised a big tablet, on that she let float the just filled one, accompanied from 50 other marked with names Ampulla's, turned around to the door and vanished with a last wave out of Hermiones sight.

This one stood unsurely back. How much time till 14h? A peek to a tick beside her… half an hour. Fast, without considering any longer, Hermiones rushed back to the cellar.

She felt hollowly and empty as she stood in Voldemorts room again. Sure, Helen did her a favour, was worried about her, treated her kindly, always helped her… They would go out for lunch in a few minutes…

As fast as she was able to do she took the packing list from the trolley, checked, like every day, if everything was still on the trolley that she'd put upon this morning and marked off all the things she found, carefully.

But her glance glided back to her patient over and over again. He was still captured in his druggy state. On and off, he gave a soft moaning out, still he regarded his environment not in the slightest.

After she'd done the checking, she approached with upraised wand to his bed, to lay the bans back on him again.

Put out of action until the next morning… Helen's words lingered on strangely threatening inside her mind.

He said something. Quite softly…trough his noisy, rattling breathing and the animal-like moaning, she heard some words. Spells…his hand seemed to seek for the wand, which had been a implicitness to him for such a long time. She listened closer…didn't know them. Just chimeras and figments, but yet…he might remembered that at the moment.

Hermione wanted to slap him into his face, to get him a bit more awake. Wanted to wake him up, just he could see her leaving, to let him know that she was already gone.

But her hands didn't hit hardly but carefully and gently on his face, as she, without even wanting it, fondled him with the back of her own small hand goodbye… and went out. Without bans…until the next morning.

xXx

The scenery changed entirely. Instead of cold, caged, dark and quiet, they now sat in a sun-drenched, green backyard of a well-attended pizzeria, two downright indecently big, evocation of car tyres, pizzas in front of them, which scented so temptation that they even made the mouth of the passers-by across the street water. And they tasted even better…

Helen shovelled herself appreciatively one cut off piece after another of the pizza into her mouth, paused shortly to look at Hermione radiant with joy and to refill herself with some more pumpkin juice, then she couldn't held herself back and lunged at her lunch again. It also tasted good to Hermione, but the sight of the friendly Helen was so strange, when she thought on her Patient in the hospital at the same time. What kind of a present Helen had made her?

It was well-meant, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to feel honest joy nevertheless. She ate very slowly, bit for bit, while she thought of her "child", who lay alone in the cellar and had to live on sandwiches and venomed potions.

After Helen had finished her meal and eructed bashfully, she let herself sink backwards on her chair with pleasure, and sucked the sun-light, raying into her face, in. She spread her arms, lay them behind her neck, so that she could bent herself back even further.

Hermione ate silently, quietly and bolt-upright the rest of her pizza. The sunlight that warmed up Helen, she didn't feel it.

But then Helen let herself fell forward, as if she'd been jostled from behind, her upper body flew on the table and managed it in the last second to support herself with her elbows. "Let's talk." said the older one, now more serious, without laughter-lines which had become so familiar to Hermione. "…about him. You're a good friend of Harry Potter, aren't you? I've read about you in the paper. Isn't it strange to you, what you of all people must take care of him?" Hermione nodded agreeing, a nod which was returned by Helen, as she took a deep breath and spoke on. "You've chased him , haven't you?" Hermione blushed a little at the thought of being recognised from an article in the daily prophet, but she nodded and a shy smile hushed across her face.

Helen did not smile, appeared tensed in a curious manner. The tension was not only inside of Helen, the while air seemed to be charged about that, Helen wanted to say now. A topic, that appeared to be unendingly hard for her, she first had to fumble for words before she was able to speak about the unspeakable.

"He'd tortured me, you know?" it suddenly burst out of her. Hermione winced appalled, she'd expected many things, but not that. "He? But…why? When… how?", the younger one concerned, unable to receive that message.

Helen´s head sunk downwards and her eyes rested on her folded hands in front her on the table. "My Husband…" she had to gulp, before she was able to speak on. "He is a…was…he was on of Scrimgours secretaries, and, regrettably , an excellent occlumens. The death-eaters abducted him one day, after his work. He should betray them a way to the minister. But he…didn´t want to talk. He did not want to help Lord Vo…you-know-who to come into power. He might had thought to himself that his own death was the lesser evil than the death of all those people, who would die if you-know-how should come to power."

Hermione was deeply aghast and took Helens hand and fondled it gently, while Helen went on spoke on tantalised, as if every word on her tounge she had to say would cause her pain. "But he didn´t kill him…not then. No, he captured us. Me and…" Helen sobbed and Hermione knew at the beginning of the sentence, how it would end. "our both children. A boy of seven years and a nine year old girl. He forced him watch us being tortured. My Husband… he was a good man. He couldn't stand, seeing us having pains… me and the children. So he told you-know-who rather fast everything he wanted to know."

Helen sobbed grateful for Hermione holding and fondling her hand, and whipped the tears out of her face with her free hand and . "But he was angry. You-know-who. He knew not enough and the questioning took him to much time. He hadn´t shouted, you know, he talked quite reasonable and gentle and said so harrowing things at the same time."

Hermione understood this so very well, how familiar that was to her. She stood up and sat herself directly next to Helen, lay her arm consoling on the shoulder of the shivering women, who had to force herself with all her strength to continue. "He had this snake. Nagini was the name, I guess.

He was so angry because my husband was not as useful as he'd been hoping, And as a punishment him showed him, how our children were eaten by his snake. And then… he sent him out to decoy the minister. Otherwise I would be the next one to be eaten by the snake."

Helen whimpered tantalised and so sad, Hermione barley could take to hear so much suffering without being able to help. "And he did so. He brought the Minister to him but then… he killed them both. Some Aurors who were out to rescure Scrimgour have found and rescued me… but my husband and the Scrimgour were already dead, so i was the only survivor."

Helen went pale, nearly as pale as Voldemort was, she didn't cry any more, but the corners of her mouth still tremored as she went on, interminably bitter and angry, than she looked straight in Hermiones eyes again, she appeared to be transmuted into a very old women. "Last week I had to go to him…the first time since he is awake. I had to take a blood sample from him… and you know what? He had absolutely no clue who I am."

Helen banged angrily with her fist on the table. "I was a whole week in that dungeon. He´d killed my husband and my children. My purpose of life. That's not even nine month ago, but he had forgotten everything. Didn't know me."

Helen crossed the arms so closed to her chest, as if she tried to asphyxiate herself. "Claris is right. Claris two adult sons were Aurors by the way… he killed them too. Claris always says, that he'd erased so many human life's that he has no clue who he has already killed and who not. Is not able to distinguish his victims… And Claris is right about that." Helen finished her confession to Hermione with a corroborating nod, and Hermione replied this gesture, everyone of them knew, that the both women had been right.

"Do you know why we have a scarcity of healers?" Helen asked with unmistakable cynicism

in the voice. Hermione shrugged uncertainly, what was answered by an enraged glaring eyes of the blonde. "Because he'd also killed ten of them. Some death-eaters were injured, so he has abducted healers. Yes, and they had to die so they couldn't betrayal anything. But stupid…" commented the increasingly bitterer sounding women „Now nobody has time for him. We couldn't hire enough new healers in such short time. Well, bad luck. Right?"

So sad to find words, Hermione lay her arm anew about Helen, bent aside to her and leaned her own, no so hurting, head on Helens warm, but wet with tears, cheek and fondled her hands. There were no words to express what she was feeling now.

Poor Helen, how unjustly she'd been thinking about her. Probably about Claris to. Ever and ever again, since her first day, she hadn't understood why the nurses took so much pain to humble the former dark lord. Particularly the dear, likeable Helen. Why could she approve those things? How often she felt a knot in her stomach when she looked at the weak, almost starved man and had seen Helen thereafter.

But did he deserve something else? Could anyone expect something else than that from Helen or Claris? How could anyone demand that these women treated the monster, he didn't even deem it necessary to remember his victims, even rudimentary humane?

These Healers who'd never cared for him during their walk rounds… they'd lost their colleagues

Escaped their killing just by an lucky accident. Their killing by him. And now all those crimes came back to haunt him.

Stabs to death by the sword.

And he did not even grasp it. Not only, that he in the slightest didn't seem to grasp that he'd done something wrong, no… he would not understand what Helen said to Hermione, because he simply could not remember his doings.

He didn't knew what he'd done to Helen, because he didn't know her. He'd probably tortured hundreds of other peoples in these days… and even more had been killed by his death-eaters… in his order. No…too many to distinguish them.

Hermione cried silently together with Helen, still sitting in the warm sunshine, she couldn't comprehend how one man could be so cold. What about her own parents? As he told her the address of her parents…he wanted to abduct and kill them too. If the battle at Hogwarts had been only a few days later…her parents would have become a dinner for the now beheaded Nagini too.

And what did she do? Pampered that beast like a little child and shepherded him. Played with him cards, held hands with him and worst of all, she'd permitted, that he leaded her during the lessons, he offered so willingly to her, into his evil mind.

Helen grasped her hand and her words intruded pleading on Hermione, while she whispered adjuratory to the younger one. "You won't forget what he had done, will you?"

Hermione shook her head. „No Helen, I won't forget it."

„And you won't feel pity for him, no matter how much he's whining? You´ll think of all the deaths?"

Iron chains tightened painfully around Hermiones breast, squeezed the air off her lunges. "Yes Helen, I will think of them."

The blond witch breathed a sight of relief , fondled Hermiones cheek and gave her a soft kiss and her hand, she was still holding. "Thank you Hermione. That is no man, that is no human being at all. That is just a bloodthirsty monster and soul will see to it, that he gets what he deserves . Won't you?"

The brunet swallowed, tried to swallow the bitter taste of these words, tried to console the former mother. "Yes Helen, he shall get what he deserves."

A very familiar fight broke out inside Hermione. He, Lord Voldemort, the mass-murderer. One had to kill him. But she lost the relation to his doing on the daily contact with him.

Dumbledore, Fred, Tonks, Lupin, Cedric, Snape, Mad-Eye, Harry's parents…and innumerable others. He didn't even deem it necessary to think of his turpitudes.

But yet, nevertheless… did really nothing human remain in him? The way she saw him every day…he almost appeared like a normal man. Was really everything inside this heart, inside this crippled soul, rotten? Wasn't it a betrayal of his victims, if she tried to make him remorseful? If she simply dealt with him?

Hermione replayed Helen's kiss on the shoulder, she leaned on. If this gruesome time were finally over…

xXx

That day, to the first time in her life, Hermione Granger decided it would be better not to think. So she sneaked back in the hospital cellar, after she'd left Helen. The excuse, she had forgotten something in the locker, was accepted unprejudicedly. So one of Helens special bottles left the hospital and got a way into Hermiones room in the leaky cauldron.

He, the monster, had almost emptied the bottle. That was too much…but maybe only one or two gulps? She could try it… and shortly after, Hermione was surrounded by a heavenly nothing inside her mind. No cogitations, no sorrows, no pains…until the next morning.

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**Reviews?**_I really like to know what you people think about Helen_


	14. Vermin

_I´ll post the next chapter, if i´ll post more chapters, on 25 of October_

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**Chapter 14: Vermin**

As Hermione entered the sickroom, he still lay in the same way she'd left him. But considerably wetter. A side effect of the morphia, he must have been terribly sweating. His clothes adhered so close to his thin body, that she even saw his rips through his black shirt, which shoved themselves out through his pale skin. And he drooled, while he was sleeping.

Hermione felt pure nauseation, as she commemorated the almost caressing goodbye of the last day, so she gave him the slap in the face, she'd missed to give him yesterday. Thereupon the dripping creature began to move.

„Get up!" Hermione snarled at him gruffy.

Voldemort appeared totally perplexed, his pupils still seemed to swim around in his red, glassy eyes. Unhandy he turned on his stomach and pressed himself up on all fours. He crept staggering around like a newborn foal, till he lost his balance and fell sideward out if the bed.

A loud shout of pain echoed trough the room, but now he was outright awake. Hermione leaned herself easy on the wall crossed arms and watched him struggling on his feet with.

He had to cling himself on the bed in order not tilting over again. He still breathed strangely loud, while he passed her, hand over hand along his bedside locker, to get to the sink.

The breath-taking smell that confronted her, as he passed by her, was disgusting. He´d surley spilled litres of sweat, last night. Hermiones pushed herself nauseated against the yellow dyed stonewall, tried to press herself as thin as possible against the wall, as the skinny man stumbled along the wall, and just managed it with his both hands to catch himself on the basin.

The head hanging downwards, his glance wandered first to her, then over to his bed and thereafter back again to the sink. "Since when are you here?" the cold, rasping voice of Voldemort snarled at her.

His glance wandered seeking through the room, Of course, he was hungry. He might waited for his servant to serve him, like every day, his meal…new clothes and fresh bedclothes.

„Get me something to put on." he commanded harsh to her, while he, still a bit wobbly, ribbed his sticking clothes off.

Hermione averted her gaze. He knew no senses of shame, when he was dealing with her. That was no sign of intimacy, he felt not ashamed about his nakedness, because he regarded Hermione just as another unimportant piece of furniture. A servant, not worth to be bashful because of her.

Hermione grabbed into her cloak mutely, pulled the bag out and dumped the contents on the bed. Tiny things became big in seconds, like blown up. In spite of her anger, she had to smile about that sight.

Voldemorts fresh clothes were thrown ahead of his feed. He noticed her no longer, brushed, still half asleep, his teeth.

Sometimes the tooth-brush didn't hit the narrow lips so that his face was coated with white toothpaste strips, because he'd slid off for several times.

There he stood, the heir of Slytherin. The mass-murderer, the madman. The poor evil in human shape.

Did she forget how it was like, how it felt, to wear his horcruxes? The way the tiny bit of the destroyed soul, that was looked in there, changed and dominated them? And over there stood the rest of that evil…how could it happen, that she'd ever seen something else in him as a monster?

The silvery tap was turned on and cold water dabbled into the white stone basin.

Voldemort stretched his both hands there under, first he let his hands be washed around by the water, after that he laid his hands funnel-shaped together, bent forward and spattered himself with the collected water a few times into his face. He turned the water warmer, snatched behind him and fished a flannel and liquid soap from the trolley and started to lather himself.

„You see, I´m, just had our first meeting in my mind." Hermione launched into a conversation. Voldemorts head jerked shortly toward her, he nealy appeared embarresed about his then state. „I was ill." He just gave back.

„Oh no." Contradicted the young women, which moved herself away from the wall and sat on the slightly humid hospital bed to watch him now all the more attentive, during his personal hygiene. "No… I just asked myself, if i´d seen you to the first time while you murdered Mooney or in Bathilda Bagshots house. Well, we'd drunk polyjuice potion. Harry and me. Maybe it's easer for you to remember our next meeting. During the battle, yes?"

Hermione tried hard sounding composedly, but that succeed mere rudimental to her. Those terrible pictures, that used to appear in her mind every night before she fell asleep, were now they were talking about them, so gruesome present and threatening, as if they'd still were fighting against each other.

Without pausing, he continued to wash himself. But Hermiones accusations had amused him and he chuckled. "Oh right. Sure, we´re old acquaintances."

Hermiones voice got louder, she lost her temper and began to shout. „WHY AREN´T YOU DIED, AS THE CURSE HAS HIT YOU? YOU ININCARNATE PEST!" the anger burst out of her.

The wall beside her began to gleam in a gentle lime green. Every time he got angry, the mood flower changed it's colour and started to shine in a appeasing, blue light. This light intermingled with the luscious sun-yellow of the walls and bathed the room around them in the colour of slytherin.

"Do you actually know, why you'd slept so peaceful yesterday?" Hermione went on, and couldn't restrain a maliciously laughter. Voldemort froze, he might had already thought about that, but before he could venture a guess, Hermione enlightened him delightfully.

„We've poisoned you." She gave out with manifestly satisfaction in her voice. The snake-like head turned slowly into her direction.

Insecurity reflected from his face. That sight of the usually so unemotionally appearing lord, satisfied her to the core and gave her the strength, to speak on chattily, as if she'd just spread the newest hospital-gossip to him.

"Well, to be true…actually is was only the charge-nurses idea. She'd put the morphia into the vanilla-probe bottle. A kind surprise for me… The good women has pity on me. She didn't expect me put up with having to do with something" scornful frowns glided over his body "like you.!"

„She ´d drugged me with morphin?" asked the tall man calmy, almost gentle, but the just now greenish walls stained increasingly turquoise. It looked, as if they would stand in the heart of a pool in big swimming bath. The mood flower shone more intensive, the blue glow became stronger.

„Oh come on. What do you expect? You'd wiped her whole family out." Hermione commented his indignation equanimously. The addressed onepaused in his motions, lay the flannel in his hand slowly on the washbasin and turned around to her. "Whose?"

„Nurse Helens. She took a blood sample from you last week. Her husband had worked for the minister. Her husband and her children, you'd extinguished her whole family. You might remember at that?" she asked pointedly sounding easy-going. Voldemort crossed his arms, but stayed on his spot, lurking, at the basin. Seemed assessing how much of her words were the truth and how much provocation.

The young Gryffindor clapped with the flat of her hand on her knee cheerfully . Smiled indulging, preformed a throwaway-gesture and placated pacifying, while she explained with an with polemic dripping voice. "Ah…don't rack your brain about that. Yes, that has to be hard… I mean…you had a great deal with eradicating whole areas. That was definitely enough work. Sometime it has to be enough. How could anyone expect from you, also memorizing your victims." An encouraging smile towards Voldemort, a nodding and a casual legs crossing gave her the impression of just talking about a failed mincemeat-hotpot.

Her counterparts unfixed his arms, laid the on hand on the basin and moved the other hand shortly across his mouth. As she saw his mouth again, appeared a smile on his skull-like face. Yes, the mouth smiled but the eyes glared so threatening to her, as if he'd tried to burn her with his looks.

„Yes." He launched as friendly as she did into answering, while he approached to her with elegant swaying steps. "You're right. Why should anyone take the trouble, to deal with the waste disposal? Fine, that you'd finally realized that. Oh yes, now I'm remembering." He added with a whiff of pride, as he crouched down in front of Hermione and looked into her brown eyes. "Mudbloods. The whole family. Not really a whorty meal to my poor Nagini. Wll done, you'd finally got how unimportant mudbloods and muggles are." Still smiling, he titled his head and patted Hermiones cheeks. "Completely superfluous and useless, aren´t they?"

Hermione stiffened herself, she felt he was trying to infringe in her memories. But this time it was faster, rawer. He seemed to know what he was looking for. Pictures shot past her jerking. Like a fast-forwarded movie, the conversation with Helen flickered across her eyes. But she was able to press him out of her, exhausting and with all her concentration. Sometime, seconds or hours later, she was herself again.

Voldemort still sat in front of her. On knee on the floor, the other one bent and the arm supported on it.

Hermione bent herself a little forward and fondled his bold head. "Tell me, what misleads you to the delusion, that you belong to the useful peoples?" she curred tenderly. The answer was purred back equally gentle. "And what misguides you to the assumption, I wouldn't kill you for such speeches?"

Hermione laughed hearty, since he hated to be laughed at. The mood-flower in the room began shining threatening, it's light turned darker from second to second.

The brunette arose, the outstretched hand supported on his head , she was smiling down to the bald man. "Okay, go ahead. Feel free, but I´m afraid without a wand." With an easy movement she pulled the wand out of her cloak and pointed it on his forehead. "you won't get very far. TOM!"

The hated name tasted sweet as honey on her tongue.

Voldemort upraised himself and loomed large above her again. "Then you will have to give me yours." He hissed threatening.

The forefinger upraised, he tapped on her chest and moved a few steps back and started to compass her, obviously he was thinking about something. And whatever it was, Hermione felt that it couldn't be something good.

„You know it would be useless to you." the young women ridiculed the heir of slytherin, who encircled her like a tiger.

„So?" he hissed with avowedly fury in the voice. The flower pulsated in a deep prussian blue. He seemed to be angry enough, to dare experiments. Hermione lowered her wand unsettelt, this time she'd gone to far.

Apparently amused about her uncertainty, he started to laugh scoffing. A stopped a short moment, raised his hand and pointed at her wand, seemed trying to beckon it over. "Better you don't trust in it's protection-bans. We'll see."

He licked his lips like a hungry animal. The tiger prepared to jump. Voldemorts hand whipped through the air and Hermiones wand was snapped out of her hand as hit by the expeliarmus and landed directly in front of his feet.

The time around Hermione stood still for an heartbeat, it couldn't, it mustn't be true.

But she had no time to consider about that. She threw herself to the floor with a dive in front of him, but he'd already stood one of his big, white feet, on Hermiones wand. Her fists thumped on his feet, ripped on the wand and tried to press his leg away. But he didn't even waved at all and above her, resounded his direful, triumphant, cold laugh.

That was not good, that was no good at all. The wand, her life-assurance in this room. Hadn't they told her, he wouldn't be able to touch it? But now he stood on it and no matter how heavy she pulled and yanked, his feed stayed right there it was, like encased in concrete. Standing on his place and position, while he laughed at her louder and louder, being beside himself with evil joy.

Then he raised the other feed and gave the desperately on the wand tearing Hermione a boot in her face which made her spinning aback like a football.

Hermione shouted out with pain. Blood sprayed across her face, she broke out in tears with pain and fear, buried her face in her hands to protect herself against a new boot.

Voldemort still stood on the same spot, smiled delightful down to her. Gloated on her pains. How much it must have been desiring him to inflict damage on her. How much he enjoyed it to see his wardress lying on the floor in tears.

"Now you're at my mercy. MUDBLOOD!" jubilated the dark lord, being secure of his victory, while he let himself sink down on his knees, slow and leisurely, to raise the wand. But he mustn't do that, in the moment he moved his foot away to take the wand, Hermione jumped up and threw herself again directly in front of him on the floor. But immediately his foot stood back again on the wand. But this time she wouldn't give an inch so simply. He wrenched her hair, tried to yank her upwards, but even though he ripped a whole tuft of hair out at once, she stand on her ground but locked herself with wide opened jaw in his ankle.

Howling with anger, the tall man grabbed now her both ears, yanked her head so high that he could loose one of his hands in order to box her into her face with full force. Something cracked. Hermions nose? Once more the blood gushed out of her nose and sputtered down off her face. Her face seemed to up swell like a balloon, she wasn't able to breathe through her nose any longer and so she had to unloose her bite.

Hermiones teeth left a thin, bloody, circular mark on the white, ankle of the dark lord.

Was that really the man who had been to weak to go to the washbasin without help, a few weeks ago? Wherefrom he took so much strength? And she didn't even had a wand at all to give a signal to the aurors. She couldn't even cry for help, because the walls were noise-sealed.

Her face was an only, open wound. Blood, hers and his, dripped out of her mouth. Intermingled with the one which dropped out of her broken

A string boot into her rips which pressed the oxygen out of Hermiones lunges, and Hermione rolled sideward like a doll. But it took just a few seconds and she managed it again being on her fours and crawling over to him.

He sat stooped down in front of her to rub his bleeding ankles. He lifted his head as he noticed her and the madness burned inside his eyes. He would do it, he would kill her. But she just musn´t leave the weapon to him. And with her last ounce of strength, the young girl threw herself again into his arms and clung her hands in his ears, hoicked him and bit into his remaining nose, slid with her lips along across his face and bit into everything what came between her teeth.

Voldemort tilt aback, yanked again on Hermiones hair and tried to tear her off. But yet she'd pressed herself so tight on him, his arms weren't able to found a suitable position to rip her off himself.

His arms clasped her, like a bench vice he clutched the young women and they both bodies rolled on the floor till he lay on her. Hermione eased her hands by the jerk of the turning. Fast as a cobra his upper body shot up.

Hermione lay under him with spread legs on the floor, he kneeled, loudly gasping and snorting over her.

His long, white finger clinched her throat like an octopus and he squeezed. But that was probably not enough, and her throat was hoiked about two steps, in order to dash it back on the cold, hard stone-floor with full force.

If she were able to breathe, she'd shouted so loud, than never before in her life. But no noise came above her lips, only her tongue shoved itself slowly forward. Stars twinkled in front of her and faded in the around her blurring environment away.

The same again.

He would kill her. Her head was hoiked a third time. She clung herself desperately in his hands, but powerless. She suffocated, she fidgeted… and the back of her head hit a third time with a thud on the floor and she fell into a deep, all-devouring black.

xXx

The maltreated women came around with a tortuous rattle. Her body consisted just of pains. Her nose was broken, occluded with dried blood so that she couldn't take breathe anymore.

Her throat was also constricted.

Hermione turned around from the stomach to her back like a wet sack. A flush of blood, which had been collected in her mouth, fell splashing on her hands, which lay in front of her like something strange, like something not belonging to her body. His icy fingers still seemed to press her throat, it was nearly impossible to her to breathe. Everything around her was still blurred and dark. Almost unable to lift her own heavy, aching head, Hermione slid on her stomach a few inches over the floor. She couldn't have been unconscious for a long time. The blood around her was still wet, not even clotted. The outlines went sharper. She saw the dark Lord again, who still sat very closed to her.

He kneeled not over her, but in front of her, the back turned towards her. He yelled, raged and shouted…threshed with the clenched fist on the floor. Did he finally went completely mad? Did he think she was still laying there and he was trying to kill her?

Now he started to crept across the room on all fours. Sometimes he jumped ahead like an animal, or as he would try to catch his own shadow. She managed to lift her had a bit more, so she could peek over to him. He kneeled in front of the room-wall besides his bed. His arms seemed trying to grasp for something. But without he probably was unsuccessful. He jumped up, hoped with one arm to support him over his bed and let himself fall back at the fourths on the other side.

And now she saw it. It was really the wand and his fingers didn't made it to catch it. He'd probably made to put his foot on it, but as the hands were trying to grasp for it, the wand hopped away as it would be pulled away on an invisible string. Over and over again he tried to throw himself on the weapon, but didn't manage it to get his hands closer than 5 inches to the wand, cause the wand betook itself.

The wand seemed to have an own life, wanted to play tag with Voldemort. But this one had no chances.

No matter how miserable she felt, the presented play amused her. He looked so ridicules, hopping all over the floor, almost like a giant, shouting, white rabbit. The life returned back into her. The torpidity disappeared and made room for the pains she started to feel again. But she managed it to get up. A sudden pain passed through her, as she straightened up herself laboured, with hands supported on her knees.

Her ribcage hurt, something pushed against her chest. A rib was broken. Her lunges ached, the throat was constricted, the nose blocked with clotted blood, so she almost couldn't take air inside them. She staggered, was one the verge of tilting over again but she could catch herself before she fell down. She needn't go far.

Voldemort was still busy with the wand he'd "hustled" (well, or haunted) into a corner, but his spider-fingers still didn't make it to close around the longed for object.

He didn't look at her, didn't look at his left, didn't look at his right…crouched shouting and garbing in front of the wand , which shoved itself perpendicularly aloft the wall, to escape from his touch.

As quiet as it was possible to her, she hobbled over to him, guided her hands along his shoulders, passed them and her fingertips could now almost touch the yellow plaster. Her shadow fell on the wall, let her tantalizer jerking around sharply. His mistake…

Hermione stretched herself over the appalled man, a fast grip and she had it. The wand.

And then…CRUCIO!

The astonished expression in his face gave way and made room for tantalised pains. Voldemort rolled his eyes and tilted sideward. The torture made him yelping and thrilled his thin body like under thousands of current pulses. Mad screams resounded from the walls, while his body reared up and collapsed back upon itself. The tortured people writhed themselves under the crutiatus-curse, as if they had a convulsive seizure. She did it right.

As fast as her oppressed body allowed it, Hermione laid the lame-bans back on still screaming man, first then she ended the crutiatus-curse. Oh yes, he'd taught her how to preserve a curse, I she'd have to perform other charms in the meantime. The lessons paid off.

But first, her own body in need of prepare was important thing to her. "Episkey." The stream of blood ran dry.

She spoke a few other spells with a hoarse, scratching voice, witch let the swelling fading away.

After she'd washed the most blood off her on the washbasin, she fixed her smashed nose and her broken rib up. So, that was better.

Now she could look after her patient again. "Get up and take your clothes off. I bought them for you, I want them back." The young Gryffindor shouted harsh at the heavily breathing man. Oh yes, she'd became fast, only a short gesture and muttered spell and the bans were unloosed again.

The thin, trembling man turned slowly on his stomach, scowled angry up at her groaned. But his glowering eyes searched hers and she slowly a feeling of emptiness overcame her… NO! NEVER AGAIN!

„CUCIO!" anew his just now lifted upper body broke away. He fell screaming and lashing about sideward and convulsed with pain.

„I'm warning you Tom Riddle. Don't try your dirty tricks." Hermione barked threatening down to him. Then, I might have been a minute full of deadly pains to him, she took the curse away from him.

Shivering he turned himself back on the stomach. Snorting and heavily breathing he pushed his body bottom-up. He had to cling himself on the stair, as he did a just before, and heavily staggering he made it to come back on his feet.

Cold hatred was written all over his face. He lurked his prey and wanted to intimidate her.

„You should think twice about the tings you do, girl… I will…"

He didn't go further, because she'd just shouted the torture-curse once more, which let his middle curving down again. The almost yelled maledictions at her got lost in his tantalised screams while he squirmed again.

Was it evil to savour his pains? Was she now as evil as he, because it pandered her and provided a satisfying feeling of vengeance to her, as she saw him squirming and convolving? But he'd just tried to kill her, it would be pure madness, if she didn't show him how foolish and dangerous further attacks would be?

„Take your cloths off, at last. I want to have my goods back… I RESIGN!" Hermione barked with such an hatred–distorted voice, she'd never considered it as possible. Right, she wanted to go. That was to much…first Helens confession and then he beat her up. No, that was the end. No money, no positive feedback, no positive assessment and no experience could be worth to withstand that even one day longer than necessary.

The skinny, hairless, pale upper body was almost to heavy for these thin, white legs. But he managed it to straightened up himself. Haa…her Matser taught her a lot about the right way to apply cursed. Her cruciatus couldn´t have been achier.

But as he managed to be upright again, the pains seemed to be faded away. Instead of screams she just reaped scorn and derision, while he striped, obviously delightfully slow, in front of her tossed every piece of his clothing singly to her feet.

Hermione limped, facing him, backwards with a minatory raised wand. Voldemorts face was motionless, observant. With a fast grip to her side she grabbed at the trolley and pulled it right up to her. If she would really never came back, she mustn't leave anything standing around in here, which was forbidden to him. So…everything.

„Now you'll see how fucking comfortable it is, when the other ones will take care for you. When you'll have to starve, lying in your own piss all day long again!" the raging, young woman nagged at the after all a bit anxious looking man. No, that wasn't she self who spoke such words. A fury had took possession of her, she didn't knew such words at all. And the fury didn't bother about good behaviour. All she cared for was revenge.

„And if I tell them what you've done, they'll treat you certainly even a bit nicer as before. LIE DOWN!" the last words were shouted. And he obeyed, seemed to get that this battle was won by Hermione. So he laid himself down unresisting, and let Hermione put the bans on him.

„You know why I did it?" asked the totally motionless Voldemort in a terrible calm and serene manner the young women, he'd beaten senseless just a short while ago.

Hermione almost toppled over about so much shocking placidity. Her patient looked straight into her eyes, was calm and composed…without the madness she saw a little while ago gleaming in him. As if nothing had happened. Hermione started to feel sick.

"Sure, you wanted to kill me." Hermione yapped back. Too angry to think straight, she just wanted to get out of there, didn´t want to hear only one more word from him.

Her attacker didn't appear to be impressed by her access of rage. A moment of silence he seemed to search for the right words, then raised his rest-eye-brows, curled his lips and nodded agreeing.

„Of course, in order not having to die myself." He admitted outright. And in order to make this picture even worse as before, he put his worst terrible schoolmaster smirk on and started immediately to explain in just that tone to her. "And you know, I wouldn't have done it if I couldn't have hoped to rescue myself?" that sounded so patronizing, she'd loved nothing better than spitting into his face.

SHE risked her job, hazarder her further occupational carrier, made herself liable to prosecution, BROKE EVRY RULE SHE KNEW….for HIM, and did things for him, she hadn't even been able to speak about without disgust, a few month ago… and in the end, he finally got her so far, that she'd almost liked him. But no, he was a brutal animal and nothing else…and now he even smirked at her as if she should be grateful in order, for not being slashed by him. YET!

Hermione launched an angry reply, her breast heaved and lowered violently, she began to gasp, felt hot inside. She was on the verge of burning up with anger. Bristling with anger she approached a few steps to him, the corner of her mouth was trembling…ready to enunciate the next curse over him… but he was faster.

Untouched about her openly displayed complete bewilderment, he whispered some gentle, nearly kind words to her." Be honest, girl. What would you have done? Wouldn't you try to get out of here too? At any price, too?"

"No, I wouldn't do so. I'm not an animal. Never at any price." The brunette contradicted in the chest tone.

„Liar. Well, perhaps not. Maybe you're really so dumb." The Lord sneered at so much conviction. "Don't be ridiculous! Going to the scaffold without resistance doesn't testifies to gallantry but rather to insanity. But we'd cleared now, that this way is locked to me. I won't attack you again." He promised her again in such a benevolent manner, as if would be a great honour not being on the top of his death list.

Hermione spitted out, she had little small bubbles at her mouth. With all the rage, she was barley able to tall. "No, of course not." she sneered despisingly. „You would never do anything to anyone, who hadn't deserved it." she gagged disgustedly for his sight. "Why should it be different it be different with me?"

„Because I need you." He commented even minded.

Her movements froze. No matter how angry she was, the fact, he was admitting that so avowedly, let her heart sank. Made her losing her poise and cooled the hot burning anger down.

Hermione approached to him with her still raised wand and drilled the tip of her wand in his throat ahs she stood closed to him. "So, am I useful after all? Not quite as superfluous as all the other ones you have killed?" she hissed provocating.

He replayed, still without any discernable emotion. "What do you want to hear, girl? I´ve done what i did. What´s all i´m going to tell you. But I wouldn't do anything to YOU, I need you. I know what."

"Can't help you. You should have thought about this ahead of time" Hermione crowed with a trace of superiority and relief. "That's nothing to me anymore. Explain it to Helen, whose life you'd destroyed. Well, if you'll ever catch sight of her. I wouldn't go to you, I'd leave you to rot here." And in order to demonstrate that very, she pulled the trolley, dead set on leaving him, over to her and turned to the door.

„Please don't resign. You know, I would die here without you." Voldemort yelled after his caregiver, and the entreaty in his voice sounded truly. She just couldn't help but…hearing him saying such things without sneer and scorn, was just to bizarre to ignore it.

But he'd already explained to her, he would do everything in order not having to die. And conjuring up mellifluous lies, was certainly a part of this plan.

No, she wouldn't fall for him anymore. He was a master of manipulation. But still…her thoughts wandered back to the crying Helen. How could anyone do something of that kind to other peoples? If she would "leave" him now, then that was her last chance to clarify the questions which tantalised her for so long. Not just since the last weeks, actually, since she'd heard about him to the first time, since her entry world of witches and wizards.

„I have some questions to you, Tom." Hermione said and sat herself on the foot of the bed. She sat there in purpose, didn't want to be on the edge of the bed. Didn't want to get one single inch closer to him as necessary ever again.

Voldemort wrinkled his brow, but then he nodded to her and searched for eye-contact. He would listen to her now. Didn't seem to try to invade in her mind again, the evade the talk.

Hermione took a deep breath. Did she really want to know what he would reply? But Helen, the laughing Fred and the winking Dumbledore kept in her mind…she just had to ask him.

„Tell me, Tom. Were you ever sorry only one of your evil doings? Isn't there just one single murder or one torture you'd regretted?" Hermione asked, trying to let her hide the pleading tone in her voice. But she pleaded inwardly anyhow. Pleaded for discovering something human-like inside him, something that told her, so that all her efforts on him didn't appear vainly.

Her patient seemed to be truly surprised. The red eyes widened for a moment, the corners of his mouth winced and he bit his under lip. First he looked, as if he would desperately try to find an excuse. But then - did she hear a sigh?- the red eyes slipped away from her, wandered over to the window and he was about to deliver an answer. "You shouldn´t pose questions, whose answer you can't stand." Anew he bit his lips, closed his eyes and seemed to consider shortly, or to collect himself to make a confession, he didn't even want to hear himself. But since Hermione raised no objection, he went on. „No." And he sat it so serious, that there was no doubt about the sincerity of that answer. "There are things I would do different now, because they were careless and prematurely. But no, I'm feeling no sorrow. I'd never been sorry for anyone. Those creatures were either unimportant or nuisance. Tell me, girl, have you ever commiserated with an insect you'd scrunched under your shoos, because it's sight nauseated you? Have you ever wept for a vermin you'd swatted? " he took a deep breathe, appeared meditative and for a moment it seemed likely as he was trying to understand the coldness of his words himself.

In fact, it was exactly what Hermione had expected. But yet, it disillusioned her. She had to get away from him. Her body slid from his bed and went over to the cellar-window next to the bathtub. The one, which was furthest from him. She saw the mood-flower, that stood beside her on the ledge of the mean window. The beautiful plant shone almost white. The tender sparkle of the silver framed petals bestowed a star-like shimmer on it.

He was calm. He didn't said those thing to hurt her. She remembered with a little shudder, that the flower had even been white as he'd chocked her and smashed her head on the floor. He did what he did, without rage, just because it was useful to achieve his aim.

But wasn't that virtually impossible? One couldn't do such things without having doubts about the rightfulness of these doings. Probably she'd just got him wrong. "No, that cannot be true. Didn´t you ever care about it? It just cannot be true, you're really enjoyed those doings." The young Gryffindor begged of her patient. Begged, begged for the slightest sign of compassion in him.

Hermione turned around and walked, regardless her wish to get away from him, over to his bed. Maybe he blushed, perhaps he would tremble, avert his eyes…something what proofed her he told a lie. That he just didn't want to admit, he feel bad about it. Sure, he was so very proud, much to proud to confess a fault…the young women hoped imploringly.

But she was disappointed. Cold, mask-like, as carved in stone were the features of the ahead of her lying man as she shook his head, slowly but with absolute conviction in his eyes. "No, I've told you. Those things were necessary to achieve my aims. Why should I be sorry for those things? I'd enjoyed my might and my power. More, as everything else on the whole world, I have enjoyed domination and spreading fear, since these things arouse respect. Those people, they all were not important compared to me. Now they are dead. So be it ! YOU!" he interrupted himself shortly and gave her a deprecatingly smirk. "You'd said, death wouldn't be the worst. Right? So what are you complaining about? I'm proud of what I've achieved."

He sounded so cold that Hermione started to shiver. "But if you're not sorry for your victims… Had it never entered your mind, how very worse the ones are hit, who have survived? The people who have to manage now day by day that they have lost their dearest, their meaning of life? Can't you understand how terrible it is to live on while you real life is actually over? Since that, what kept you alive is taken away from you?" she begged really of him, pleaded for the slightest sign of agreement. If he would only show her, that he was able to understand these feelings.

But in vain. „No, girl. Why should I be interested in that? You'd asked for that women, that nurse. Didn't you? One of many others, her dead family, a dead family of many others. So they may be dead, that doesn't regard me. She shall hate me in all her sorrow and her pain. Be that as it may. Those people are much too unimportant to be kept in a memory. And those who'd achieved more, Dumbledore for example, they were standing in my way. So, consistently, I whipped them out. I am of significance, that's important." And anew he nodded to her to corroborate his words, once more without any kind of stirring.

At the beginning of their conversation it appeared, as if had doubts to speak those things out, but now he was as cold and numb as ever. The confession of a man who was persuaded of the rightfulness of his doings. And now he just only searched for words, to explain this to an unknowing child.

A trace of sickness arose in her. Was it due to his words, or because of the clotted blood inside of her stomach what let her become pale? Hermione gagged, put her hand on her mouth and staggered up to the next window. She needed fresh air, otherwise she would have to vomit.

In the moment she stood up, his glanced at her hand. Almost in a way, as if he waited for her to his hand again to convince him of his falsities.

But Hermione wasn't able to do so, her strength was gone. But possibly… if he found these people were unimportant…

"And what about your own death-eaters, Tom? They were on your side, they didn't stand in your way. Aren't you sorry for them? Bellatrix for example…She would have done, as far as I heard, almost everything for you. She may did so… She'd adored you, I think she'd loved you more than her own husband. Aren't you sorry that she had to die?

„They knew what they got themselves into. I'm not responsible for their death, not me. There are victims in a war. They died for my aims, that was clear to them. Why should I be sorry for their end, if they had accepted their death as they joined me?"

If he exerted himself to find words, so he now chatted just appearing bored along. "I would be sorry for the death of my followers, if they were still useful to my. If I was free, then I still had use for them. But I am captured and they have failed. They were vanquished and so they are devaluated. They died before me, so this topic is done with it."

Hermione noticed from the corner of her eyes, that he looked over to the window for a short moment, seemed to wait for an reaction of her. But there was no regret in his eyes…nothing. Nothing was in these eyes. They were empty, she couldn't detect anything human inside them.

Hermione had lost her battle. It was silly and hopeless, that she'd even tried to enable him to self-reflection. To make him feel. And what could one expect else but that from a soulless monster? But one must have a soul to be able to feel. Voldemort didn't feel, something of a kind that was called a soul, he didn't own something like that anymore. He sacrificed it voluntary to achieve other aims, which there probably more attractive to him.

But there was still a question left whose answer could convey comfort to her. „Do you think" Hermione began unassertive, her glance still rested on the silver-shining mood-flower „Do you think, that you could have ever been something else?" she peeked above her shoulder and saw, that he effectively looked a bit unsettled for a short moment. "I don't know" he started tentatively. "But actually it doesn´t matter. I am what i am. Don't try to regard me as anything else, you'd only get disappointed." He ended securer, steadier.

Hermione nodded, lifted the wand and unloosed the bans. As long as he was lamed, as long he would need bodily care. But who would want to touch something like this?

He'd might tried to escape, but he'd failed. Certainly he wouldn't try it again. Not at the same way, at least. He knew that Hermione could cause him pains. The bodily danger seemed to be over to her. But even so she'd wanted to cry, but she didn't had enough strength for doing this.

The indeed most terrible thing was not, that he'd attacked her. No, the most terrible point was this cold, calculated description of his murderers. Why did she had to ask? A sensible person would have known what he was the evil in person, even before he opened his mouth.

Rays of sunshine fell threw their window, on her face, warmed it and made her squint. How could so much sun and warmth get in a room, which was occupied by something unutterable dark and cold?

Hermione gulped and forced herself to speak her thoughts out. If she said it loud, she had to her it herself, couldn't run away from what she had to do.

"You know, every time I get out of here I think, things couldn't be more dreadful. But then a new day begins and you manage it, that this day is even worse than all the other dreadful days before."

Her eyes lowered again, she walked slowly to his bed. He'd sat up and started to rub his joints. The bans let his legs fall asleep. He´d told her so.

„You´re right." The defeated Hermione gave up all hope. „There's no hope to expect anything rudimentarily human from you. I either could demand sinning arias from a mute one, just as well."

Their eyes met. What he may thought of felt? She couldn't recognise anything. But probably this was, because he was so empty inside. Inwardly dead. That was he…and naked. At least, she was able to understand that he now got up fast, to put his clothes on again.

And now? Now she would got, but what then? She had to say to Helen, what she just couldn't stand it anymore. But that meant, that this horrible duty would come back to the charge nurse again.

"All right then." Decided to be inapproachably, she got came nearer to him, until she stood directly ahead if him, because he should look at her to perceive her scorn. "I will come back. To be true, I like Helen all too much to expect from her dealing with you."

Voldemort was just pulling his Shirt over his head, as his face appeared again, he showed her his often practised "You-are-my-servant-smirk". "Good. Your company is bearable, at least. You´re rather entertaining."

Hermione didn't return his smile. All cheerfulness was faded away from her face, looked like an old woman as she sat what she thought about him. "Probably one can't even blame you for this. Maybe you aren't able to be something else than a monster. An animal is an animal, even if it's taught to speak and wears clothes."

The red eyes darkened, the face, which had showcased victorious triumph, appeared all of a sudden unsettled. The thin lips were pressed together as the rest of the facial features hardened.

Hermione spun on her heels und turned around. If she´d abided only a moment longer by him, then she might had noticed the wincing hand who was, as it seemed, timidly raised to take heres. But because she didn't looked, she couldn't notice that. Nor she saw, as the tall man appeared to be tempted following her. But only a step, then he stoped again.

The signal to open the door was given and Hermione looked forward, to meet real humans again.

„Is your nose better again?" Hermione heard her tantaliser asking. But she went on, didn't look back, didn't answer to him. If she would simply never talk to him again, then he could never get her so far that she saw something else in him than a bloodthirstily beast. Unable to a conscience, therefore he'd needed to have a soul.

The one, who'd called her, watched the young women as she hastened out of the door. And then, as he was lone again, he still stood on his spot as if he hoped, the door would be opened again.

* * *


	15. Hangover Feeling

**_Beta: Dark Empress V hug_**

**_xxx_**

**Chapter 15: Hangover Feeling**

No, Hermione definitely didn't expect Helen to take care of Voldemort, even for a short while. She shouldn't have to think about him one second longer than necessary. Perhaps one day she'd find another fool who would nurse Voldemort voluntarily, but this could take weeks or months. Until then, Helen would have to carry this burden too, because the rest of the personnel had declared that they'd rather resign than walk into Voldemort's sickroom. One more question… where would they find any other possible care-givers? Since the hospital was bound to secrecy, it was highly improbable that they would hire other nurses to look after him. So… if Hermione were to quit, it was most probable that Helen - his victim, would be the only one left to perform this repulsive task.

His attempt to take the wand from her had proved to be impossible. He couldn't lift the bans that had been put on the wand without other, powerful counter-curses, and for those he would need another wand. And since he wouldn't manage to get out of the room without Hermione's wand…

Sure, he'd proven beyond any doubt that he was _physically superior to her. However, he was still__not the man he used to be, and so he was in no way strong enough to defeat the four Aurors that waited behind the door of his prison. Forcing Hermione to open it would be useful only if he could fight his way through the Aurors waiting on the other side. That wasn't likely to happen. In short, his escape was _virtually impossible.

Why hadn't she reported the incident? Wasn't this exactly what those reports were intended for? But then she would have also had to write why he was able to move at all. Therefore, she would have to admit that she'd lifted the bans, given him food, drink…. And not only once… often enough to make him almost healthy. And then…she would get sacked. That was certain. They would write her a miserable reference letter. Probably the ministry would put her name on a black list… Perhaps they would even send her to Azkaban.

Hermione suspected why Voldemort hadn't been brought to Azkaban. Other than the Dementors, there weren't many security measures there. They were cruel enough for normal people. But what could these soul-eaters do to someone who'd mutilated his soul to such an extent? Probably nothing… he had no soul that they could hurt or take away from him.

But her.. They could harm her.. No, she would only call for help if he ever attacked her again. But never without any direct danger. So she had to keep carrying out her unpleasant duty to protect the ones who wouldn't have been able to bear this. So, grit your teeth and get on with it! Right?

The incident had been harrowing, but in spite of that Hermione felt a certain relief. In the past weeks, the uncertainty whether he could use the wand and whether he would ever try to wrench it away from her stood between them like an unuttered thought. She had hoped, and he had doubted. But then they both received an answer to their question. For the moment it seemed that Hermione had won the battle.

However, she seemed to have lost the other fight. After his attack, Hermione had gone home utterly disappointed and humiliated. An animal would always be just an animal… What was she thinking, trying to find something human in him? No, there was nothing. No matter how hard she tried or how much time she wasted…he was and would always be something more despicable than even the vilest of animals, because animals were not sadistic.

So the young Gryffindor fulfilled her duty, and did nothing more. She went to him, brought him fresh bedclothes, food and drink. But that was it. Why try to do more? She didn't even put the bans on him anymore. He would have to take care of himself alone.

She always used to strike up conversations about books and school lessons, or come up with new activity ideas for him, but now she did nothing of the sort. She came in, placed the things she had brought for him on the chair next to his bed and then spent the next two hours sitting in the chair beside the bathtub on the opposite side of the room. There she read her school books or papers and ignored him. She laid the paper on his bedside locker before she went out. She had a subscription to the Daily Prophet anyway, so it made no difference if the paper ended up in the trash one day later after she was finished with it. She didn't care whether he read it or not.

Of course, he had tried to speak to her during the first days after the incident. Mostly commands, orders he wanted her to obey, but she ignored them all unwaveringly. His basic needs were satisfied, so there was no reason for him to seek contact with her. And the still-present threat that she would leave him in Helen's hands was enough to keep him from trying to use magic to force her to do more.

Since Hermione had told him about the secret content of the 'nutritious' liquid in the bottles she left him, she couldn´t sedate him secretly. Nevertheless, she still had to take the bottles away on the trolley, so the Aurors would not become suspicious. After all, that was the only food that he was officially allowed to receive.

However, she couldn't help but notice his glassy eyes and the slightly abstract expression in his face. As she counted the nutrition bottles on the trolley, she realised that one of them was missing. Later, she found it under his bed and realized that she'd probably accidentally left it in his room. The bottle was empty. Another bottle stood half-empty next to his bed. But why should she care about it? It didn't concern her. From time to time she peeked secretly under his bed when she came into the room, and there was less and less liquid in the bottle. For the whole week, whenever she was with him, Voldemort only stared impassively at the wall. Well, why should she care? But as he fell out of his bed on Friday and did not rise afterwards, but stayed right where he fell down, she decided that it was probably better to take the bottles away. From then on, she tipped the contents of the bottles out and filled them up with normal milk before she set any of them on the trolley. It was no use if he became addicted to morphia, because that could jeopardise his ability to stand the trial. Besides, she wasn't about to let him make himself numb to the thoughts and, perhaps even feelings (?) he might be experiencing.

In the following days he was very restless. He would pace the room all day, his hands trembling and sweating while he muttered something quietly. He vomited a few times. Whyshouldshecareabouthiswithdrawalsymptoms**?** No words were spoken between them.

It's been three weeks since his attack and she hadn't said a single word to him, or even looked at him. He might have been air. She came in, placed the things he needed on his bed and took the old or dirty things away as she walked out. She took care of the room rather than him.

The silence was far from easy. But as time goes by, one gets used to everything, Hermione said to herself. Even if it feels awful.

Today she couldn´t concentrate on her reading. The Standard Book of Spells. Grade 7.

She was almost done with it. A few weeks ago, they had gone through the book together. He had explained to her how she could improve her magical skills, showed her a few subtle tricks which would make her charms work better and translated some spells for her (oh yes, he knew his Latin) and gave her important background information.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and sighed. Her thoughts wandered off…

Yesterday she'd accompanied the Weasleys to a supportgroup for people who´d lost their family and friends during Voldemort's reign of terror. Helen had been with them too. It was awful. To Hermione's right sat a weeping Mrs. Weasley, and to her left a weeping Helen. The group listened to Andromeda Tonks, who told them about the loss of her family and then burst into tears as well.

Hermione would have loved nothing better than to run away screaming, but that would look heartless.

And she wasn't heartless.

It was just so terrible to listen to all these people telling their gruesome, tragic stories. They all wept, filled with despair, and there was nothing anyone could do to help them. But then she realised that what she did at St. Mungo's - punishing the overlord of evil with her silent treatment, did nothing to improve the situation.

Hesitantly, she had dared to pose a question to the assembled crowd. She took a deep breath and then asked if there was something that they would like to ask or to tell Voldemort.

At first, people were outraged at the idea, but soon there appeared numerous questions and statements which they at least wanted to discuss among themselves. Hermione wrote everything down, not even sure what use it could ever be. She slipped the piece of paper into her beaded bag, which yet again hung heavily on her shoulder.

For a moment, she looked away from the book which she was holding up to hide her face, and let her glance slide toward the other end of the room. Voldemort stood there, leaning against the wall, while his spidery fingers plucked on the lavender-scented petals in one of the aromatherapy bowls. He seemed to be watching something that was taking place on the street in front of his window.

What could it be? He shouldn't be able to see much. The cellar windows were rather small and level with the ground. Immediately outside was the street where St. Mungo´s Hospital stood hidden from the eyes of Muggles. There was nothing to see but a collage of passing feet, car tyres, animals and trash. Here, above his window, Muggles walked their dogs and pigeons landed to feed on breadcrumbs scattered on the ground.

As she came in earlier this afternoon, Voldemort was already standing by his window. Outside, there was a jet-black cat with shiny emerald-green eyes. It had squeezed its head through the bars and tried to get past the tilted window glass into the room. Even though the crack was much too tight, the cat didn't give up and, clawing with its little paw, tried to slip through the window into the room. It seemed to be intent on catching the fly which buzzed over the windowpane. Was he still watching the cat?

Her eyes flew back to the pages of the book, but again without success. Even though she could discern the words, when she got to the end of the page, she didn't remember anything she had read at the beginning. The spells floated past her like rushing water, without leaving any marks. She was unable to concentrate. Once more she thought about the events of yesterday´s evening.

Ron had been with them too. He´d stood totally mute in a corner of the room with crossed arms and watched his crying mother. Normally he was pretty talkative, but after the meeting he just wanted to be left alone. Of course, George came along as well, and sat next to Percy. Still she couldn't get accustomed to the sight of him without Fred. The picture was wrong, something was missing. As if George's arm or leg had been chopped off. Fred and George had always been so funny. But after the death of his twin brother, George had become serious and old. The laughter inside him had died along with his brother.

Helen had watched suspiciously as Hermione wrote the answers to her question down. Hermione whispered to her quietly that the slip of paper was only for herself. She wouldn't hold any conversations with her patient. After that Helen seemed to calm down a bit. The very thought that Hermione could talk to him as she did to Helen was probably inconceivable to her.

What must it have been like? Having to watch the death of one's own children and be unable to help them.. And what was the purpose of these murders? The fact that Voldemort had wanted to kill Dumbledore at least made sense in some twisted, cruel way. She could even understand his hatred of Harry. Harry was a threat to him. And so, killing the boy was the best solution someone like Voldemort was able to come up with. But what he'd done to Helen - what was the reason for that? She had once read a newspaper article about a little boy who killed his own grandparents under the imperius curse. WHY? What in the world was that for? These were exactly the things that made Voldemort into something less than an animal. Because when animals killed, they had a purpose. He didn´t.

An animal…not even that. Besides, he didn't look like a normal human being. Hermione tilted her head back slightly to flip to the next page, and glanced at him surreptitiously. While he was asleep - sometimes he was asleep when she came to him, especially during the time he had taken the morphia - she came closer to him to study his body in detail. Of course, Hermione could see her prisoner every day. But since the incident she didn't want to look too closely.

But now she was…because she was thinking about him. From time to time her gaze wandered over to the tall man standing in the opposite corner of the room, and every time it did, she noticed again how strange he looked. There had to be a visible proof that the thing that stood there was not a normal man. There had to be verifiable, clearly recognizable things about him, which identified him beyond any doubt as not-human. It would be unbearably painful it the thing that stood there was just as human as Dumbledore, Helen, or all his other victims… how could anyone in the world ever feel joyful or secure if there was even the slightest possibility that such an evil monster could appear again?

But as she now watched him from the corners of her eyes…yes, certainly…his appearance was undoubtedly unusual.

He was quite tall - 6,3 feet, maybe more. Even though he'd gained weight since she started taking care of him, he was still rather thin and looked like an oversized skeleton. And he was so terribly pale. Bone-white, from his feet up to his head. His feet were rather large, but because he was so thin, they appeared even more disproportional. His legs were accordingly long-all the trousers she'd bought for him were too short. One had to search for a pretty long time to find trousers which were so slim but also very long at the same time. His legs were hairless, as if he shaved them daily. His whole body was hairless, even at his genitalarea**. **The paleskinwasso flawless and smooth that it almost shimmered like silk. He didn't even have horny skin on his feet. But she could still see the bones sticking out at his hips, and when he stretched his arms, she could count every rib in his chest. Despite his age, the skin over his muscles was surprisingly firm. And of course…he was white as snow. Even his nipples were colourless and pale. He was a ghost…

His arms were rather long, and his fingers even more so. Since they were also very thin, his hands resembled white spiders. The neck was also rather long and the face… Yes, the face…actually he did not look like a man in his seventies. But wizards of his calibre undoubtedly had their own ways to stop aging. To her, he didn't look older than forty. Maybe the same age as her father. But her father's skin was coarser, hairier, more wrinkly…more human.

Voldemort's face, still a bit hollow-cheeked, only had some fine wrinkles, particularly around his eyes. Not a tiniest bit of hair on his face either. No eyebrows and no lashes - it made him look similar to a mannequin. His skin was smooth and soft. If one took a close look at him, his facial features were actually not even displeasing. Eerie of course, unnatural. But notnecessarily ugly. In his past, she knew, he must have been remarkably handsome…before the horcurxes changed his looks. But today the missing nose was really disturbing.

Actually, she'd really love to ask him what had happened to his nose. Had it just shrunk, or perhaps, like the nose of the Sphinx in Egypt, simply fallen off some day? One way or another, it was completely gone. Only two thin nostrils remained, which made his face appear unnaturally flat and snake-like. Hermione thought back to the time he had first heard about his execution. His sheer horror at the news gave him a stomach flu and because he vomited all the time, his nose was constantly stuffy. Had he considered that before his transformation - what he would do if he had a nasal congestion**? **After all, he was nearly unable to blow his nose… The every-day problems of a mass-murderer.

Since no hair grew on his head either, it resembled a skull, particularly in the dark. And his eyes…oh, these eyes… Their appearance was morbidly fascinating. If he'd been someone else, then she would have liked to get closer to these eyes to study and scrutinize them. However, he was only himself and so she must never forget that he turned everything that was interesting and fascinating into evil, spite and wickedness.

His eyes were intensely red, like living rubies, but the slit pupils were black. These eyes were the part of him which most distinctly marked himas non-human. Wasn't it said that eyes are mirrors of the soul? But nothing was reflected in Voldemort's eyes. Sometimes, when she couldn't avoid it and had to look into his eyes, she noticed it. They might be glassy or moist sometimes, but they never reflected anything. Wasn't it normal that one could see one's own mirror image in the eyes of the other person? But even his eyes didn't want to perceive anything but themselves. Was this what someone without a soul looked like? Were these unreflecting eyes the proof of his soullessness?

Well, he must be soulless. She thought of the things she had heard about him the previous evening. So much suffering collected in one place. Even Azkaban couldn't be worse. Yes, what did all these people want to ask Voldemort? Of course very often the same things.

‚WHY? What was the purpose? Are you sorry? Don't you have a conscience?' And Helen murmured to her: ‚Aren´t you ashamed of accepting OUR help?' Hermione had posed all these questions to him as well. And his answers had been explicit enough.

What would her friends say if they knew everything? If they knew what she was doing here? What would her parents say if they heard that she took care of the man who had plotted their death?

She knew Helen reproached her wordlessly for not having resigned yet. Of course she was also glad that Hermione took the problem off her shoulders and that she didn't have to think about it. But she also resented her for being able to stand his presence.

How would she react if she heard that Hermione lifted the bans off him, brought him food..that the clothes he wore weren't found in the trash but bought for her own money? That she´d talked to him, even took lessons from him, and that once, as he was drugged, she had caressed his cheek?

What would Mrs Weasley say? Nothing could be worse than losing one's child. And the fact that of all the people, Hermione, her daughter in law, was dealing with this monster, was a betrayal that outbalanced even Helen's probable disappointment. Mrs Weasley wept so often. And she always whished that the Dark Lord were still alive, so she could tear him apart limb by limb with her own hands. Nothing human should be left for him, only agonies. And Hermione had held this man's hand as they spoke about the limbo. Hermione's gaze slid down to her hands in disgust.

Mr Weasley seemed to know. Last night, she'd just sat with Ginny and Fleur in the kitchen of the Burrow, flipping through a catalogue of cute baby clothes, as Mr Weasley came home from the ministry. He hadn´t come with them to support group, because there was a special meeting at the ministry. And as he came home he'd been as mute as Ron. His features appeared as lifeless as if they'd belonged to a mannequin. And he looked ill…he stood in the door for quite a while and watched Hermione, who almost broke down under his gaze. Then, as Ginny and Flour went upstairs to the attic to search for something, he came over to her and looked at her with more sorrow than she'd ever seen in her life, and lay his hand on her shoulder. He didn't say anything, but she'd felt it. He knew, the ministry had probably informed some of the leading staff members about the situation. And Mr Weasley was intelligent enough to put two and two together…and he felt sorry for her. Felt sorry for her because she'd caressed a monster's cheek. Because he believed that Hermione suffered in her revolting, dangerous job. Suffered because she was taking care of him. And he did not know, and hopefully never would, that she'd sometimes really enjoyed being with him. In the past…not any longer. Once again, Hermione felt ashamed. The worst thing of all was that Mr Weasly felt sorry for HER!

Her eyes searched for him again. He'd walked away from the window for a short time, went over to his bedside locker and then came back to the window. He held one of the sandwiches in his hand and tore off tiny shreds from it. Lost in this game, he seemed almost peaceful. A breath of wind floated into room and moved the fabric of his large shirt. He tilted his head back slightly, closed his eyes and seemed to enjoy this short moment of warmth and movement across his body.

Much to her surprise, Hermione noticed that he didn't put the tiny pieces of the sandwich into his mouth. Instead, he rolled them between his thumb and forefinger, stretched his thin arm over to the window, shifted himself slightly to his tiptoes and, if Hermione wasn't wrong, he threw the sandwich tidbits over the tilted window glass out into the open air.

This war really worrying. Since they stopped talking to each other, she brought him two sandwiches less. A subtle sign of her scorn. Why would he throw the few he had out of the window instead of eating them?

The book was snapped shut as quietly as possible and laid on the floor. She had to take a closer look at this. Hadn't she removed all the morphia bottles a few days ago? She had also made sure that he couldn't hide some of them secretly. Yet his behaviour was much too strange to arise from a sober brain. Hermione skidded from the slightly too high chair and, with head held high and without deigning to look at him, marched over to the trolley which stood next to the bed.

Then she paused for a moment and grabbed the mineral water bottle which was standing there. She was at least allowed to give him as much mineral water as she wanted.

Today it was quite warm. An unusually hot June day…there had to be about 86° F outside and even the temperature inside was high. The window could be only opened a fraction and if one wanted to savour the breeze which floated in from time to time, one had do stand really close to the window to catch a bit of fresh air. One had to stand where he stood. The warm weather and the stuffy air inside the cellar room had made her thirsty and she hadn't brought enough cool drinks along for herself, so she could only drink his mineral water. At least, it had to look as though she wanted to drink something, because her gaze flitted quickly over the contents of the trolley and searched for any purposefully hidden bottles of Helen's special mixture. But no, she identified the labelled bottles which stood there as the ones she'd filled with normal milk.

Hermione lifted a mineral water bottle and examined it suspiciously. Her eyes darted over to her prisoner for a second. Well, he really did look as if he were a little high. Still the same, odd activity.

From time to time he bit off a piece of his scanty meal, but he allowed himself only tiny crumbs.

Then, without glancing at his long fingers, he tore little shreds off, squeezed and pressed them together and threw them outside. It was almost eerie to watch, because every time he did it, a faint smile played upon his usually serious face. He didn't pay any attention to her, appeared to be totally captivated by his activity.

Had Helen drugged the mineral water bottles too? Hermione wouldn't put anything past Helen. She placed the bottle back on the trolley with a trace of uneasiness. She was definitely not that thirsty.

In order not to give the impression that she'd crossed the room pointlessly, she went over to the sink, turned the water tap on with a terrible squeak, let the cold water run and splashed some onto her face. She also washed her hands, cupped them to catch the fresh water and drank it. Tap water was at least, hopefully, harmless. Funnily enough, she now stood right beside him. Well, almost…the bed separated the sink from the window, which was about 10 feet away. Actually she'd planned to take a short peek at him on her way back, but now she saw something that stopped her in her tracks.

No, he didn't throw his sandwich out of the window because of a fit of madness or because he was high. Actually, the black cat was still sitting outside of the window. The animal had squeezed its small body through the bars right up to its middle and sniffed at the ground in front of the cellar window. Then it lifted it's little snout in the air and seemed to miaow. Hermione's prisoner rolled one more piece of his sandwich into a little ball and lifted it above the tilted window glass. The hungry cat stretched itself upward till it stood on its hind legs and clawed for the titbit. As soon as the little paw touched his fingers, Voldemort dropped the crumb and the cat caught its prey. The black animal hauled its reward to the floor and sank its teeth into the chicken sandwich. Hermione was so surprised at what she saw, that she didn't manage to hold back a tiny gasp "oh". Voldemort's head turned towards her and red eyes met brown ones for a short moment. But Hermione was still to proud to pay any obvious attention to him, and so she stormed past him and tried hard to feign lack of interest again. Hell-bent on not looking at him directly, she raised her book and hid her face behind the chapter about Vanishing Spells.

But he had already noticed her attention. She detected from the corner of her eye that he threw her a surreptitious glance. „This cat comes by every day." she heard Voldemort's voice, which had an unfamiliarly friendly tone. "He must be a stray, he's hungry. I feed him with your sandwiches. He likes the ones with tuna best. But he also seems to like the chicken ones you've brought today." It was so quiet in the room that Hermione could even hear the begging miaow of the cat, which sat outside the window and demanded attention again. A silent knocking sound told Hermione that her prisoner tapped with his long, thin finger against the window glass to calm his hungry, black friend. „I like animals. More than most people."

Hermione lifted the book a bit higher and even closer to her face. Actually, she was not really able to read it anymore because her nose nearly touched the paper. And also, she couldn´t flip the pages. Anyway, she didn't want to read, she wanted to hide. He should realise that she paid no attention to him.

Nevertheless, she could feel his gaze. Why feel? It was rather because of the fact that her own eyes also flickered over to him frequently. He didn't smile at the tomcat anymore and stopped feeding him. He took a few steps forward, leaned his arm against the wall and watched her attentively. Seemed to wait for a response to his words. Well…fine. He should wait on, she didn't feel like dealing with him.

„I didn't want to kill you. I didn't even want to injure you." He started to explain after a while. Now he didn't seem to smile any longer. His face, which looked almost friendly just moments ago, now assumed what looked to her as a saddened expression. His voice had also taken on a heavy, insistent tone which implied seriousness. The prisoner wanted to talk. "I would do everything to get out of here, you know that. I just had to try. I had to see if I could escape. I cannot stay imprisoned in this room for months and do nothing but wait for my own death.**"**

Hermione's book sank a bit forward, enlarged the distance between her nose and the still blurred letters on the page. Should she listen to him? But he was an animal…wasn't he?

„And if you were wondering - yes, I would do it again if it gave me a chance to safe my life. I would do anything to survive. But I would be sorry to have to hurt you in the process. However, the security measures here seem to work quite well, so it will probably never happen again."

Hermione dropped her book with surprise. Sorry? "Don´t lie to me. You said you´re never sorry for anything." The accusation burst out of her. First words in weeks. It was stupid, but it confused her all too much that he really seemed to be earnest as he spoke. Now she couldn't help but look at him. Voldemort shrugged hopelessly, furrowed his brows and turned back to the cat to continue throwing him the little sandwich crumbs. "Yes. I said that. And yet…". He mumbled something to himself that sounded very much like „I'm not an animal" to Hermione.

Hermione sighed deeply and rolled her eyes, then she finally stowed the book in her beaded handbag. He didn't understand. He thought that she'd only stopped talking to him because of his attack. Strangely, it was not the attack that bothered Hermione the most. Much worse were his words as he admitted that he'd never felt remorseful, that he compared his victims to vermin and he couldn't even conceive of the idea that "vermin" should be treated with respect.

On the other hand, he shared his food with a stray cat and appeared to like its visits. This was much more than the limitless egoism he usually displayed. She would never have expected it from him.

Oh, the heck with it, Hermione thought to herself. Even more silence and scorn would never undo anything. What had she expected? That her sinister friend would suddenly lose his past for her sake? She had known it, she had always known what kind of a "man" he was.

Yes, Helen was right. Hermione must never forget it. It was dangerous to underestimate him.

But it was also impossible to change anything. If she really wanted to "work" with or on him, she had to concentrate on the here and now, not on his bloody past. It would only evoke bitterness and make her feel hopeless, because the past is eternally unchanging. And who would gain if there was any more hatred? Revenge might be satisfying, but in the end it was a destructive force that didn't create anything healthy or new.

Al least he was able to abstain from something he didn't have in abundance, for the sake of a hungry cat. It was a beginning. She shouldn´t expect miracles. He wouldn´t be „healed" overnight. But maybe not everything was lost.

Hermione rose from her chair and walked over to him, for the first time in nearly three weeks. She leaned casually on the wall on the opposite side of the window, directly across from him, and dared to look into his face.

Something like relief of joy flashed over his features for a short moment. Then he nodded to her, serious again and shoved the rest of the sandwich right under her nose. "Do you want to feed him too? He's still hungry."

Hermione lowered her gaze for a second to hide her smile, but she answered with an agreeing nod and walked away to bring the other chair. Otherwise she wouldn't be able to reach the window, it was too high. But as she climbed onto the chair, she wanted to clarify something and it was helpful to have a distraction so she wouldn't have to look at him while talking about this matter. "I'm very afraid you could really find a chance to get out of here, and I would again be the only one standing between you and your way out."

The dark-haired woman lifted her eyes and watched her companion. His back leaning against the wall, he watched the cat outside, shook his head faintly and his expression became, for the lack of a better word, sad.

It seemed that he had to gulp before he spoke, because his voice was weaker and his tone despondent as he answered her. "I understand you. But there is not going to be another way out for me. I'll stay here till I die."

Hermione, standing on the chair and turned towards the cat, sounded more motherly than she had for a long time as she tried to distract her child's mind from such thoughts. "You know what, Tom? Tomorrow I´ll bring some extra sandwiches. You don´t have many of them. Then we can feed the cat together."

That was the really bizarre thing about this job. There were men who looked like monsters. And there were monsters that sometimes behaved like men.

xXx

**Comment**** 1:** I've been asked why Voldemort took drugs voluntarily. Well, he's not very brave when it comes to the matter of his own death.

It's like this… Voldemort has absolutely nothing else to do than wait for his execution. And he is scared to death. The only way to bear this unbearable situation is… well, why not morphia.

He is in solitary confinement. He is not allowed to go outside. He is imprisoned in a small room, all alone the whole day… that would drive anyone crazy. It's not exclusively Hermione's achievement (even though it's a form of psychological torture to ignore him the way she did). Well, he wasn't glad that she called him an soulless animal. But the main point is… he's scared, desperate and has no way out.

Maybe his need for a person to distract him was greater than he had thought before…

But if you ask me… Voldemort should be back on his feet again, at least for now..

**Comment 2:** The German Title was "Kater-stimmung". Fits much better in some way, because "Kater" means

a) hangover

b) tomcat.


	16. Changes

** Mel** and ** Lilly: **Your probably right. So I asked the "DarkEmpress" to beta the first chapters as well.

_**Beta: Dark Empress V hug**_

_**-------------------------------------------------------------------------**_

**Chapter 16: Changes**

It was July.

One night, Hermione, Ron, Harry and Ginny visited a new, pretty popular club in Diagon Alley, provocatively named "Dance Eaters". The ideas people came up with when they believed they no longer needed to be afraid...

Much to Hermione's joy, they ran into some of their friends from school. The Weird Sisters were about to play their most popular songs. As a result, the whole cellar vault, which was normally rather spacious, became terribly overcrowded and stiffy. It was so hot inside the clubroom that Hermione longed to take off her clothes, but of course she stayed dressed and covered her nose to avoid the choking smell of sweat that surrounded them.

But she wouldn't let it bother her. Loud, reveling, partying people - she'd almost forgotten how wonderful it was to be among them. The club also seemed to have a highly inspirational influence on the crowd. Since the Weird Sisters would be late to their performance, people in the audience were invited to heat up the atmosphere themselves.

One of the most courageous girls the four of them knew didn't need to be told twice. Luna Lovegood, whose dress seemed to be made of a remarkable collection of receipts, marched onto the stage with her head held high and started to sing arias to the enthusiastically bawling crowd. She didn't do it very well, but apparently she invented the slightly.. unusual texts of her songs herself, so it seemed like no mean feat.

Those who didn't know Luna thought the lyrics she sung out in an opera-like manner were intentionally funny, so she received thunderous applause. Those who knew her just shook their heads incredulously and laughed…and Luna laughed too, because she didn't really care if she was laughed at or not as long she made the people around her cheerful.

Hermione applauded enthusiastically. But then Luna called to the crowd that she wanted to sing a duet, so Hermione ducked behind a chair and disappeared in the nearest bathroom as fast as possible. She stayed there only a few minutes, but as she returned Luna had already found her victim. The eccentric blonde actually managed to persuade Hermione's Ron to come up to the stage with her, and now, croaking horrendously, he was singing lullabies. It was really touching to see how he would make a fool of himself for Luna's sake. Ron was a thoroughly good man. She rarely felt so in love with him as she did that night.

But it was already midnight, tomorrow was Monday and so the dutiful Hermione persuaded her jobless friends that it was time to start moving towards the door to head out.

„Oh look, it´s saint Potter himself! Between all the baby kissing and photo sessions, His Holiness found time to visit his inferior friends." Snarled a well-known voice behind them, which made them all wince and spin around as if they had been hit by the cruciatus curse.

There he was. Draco Malfoy, wearing an elegant black suit, looked as handsome as ever and his narrow face wore the typically arrogant "I'm better than you" expression. One hand was hidden in his coat pocket, and the other held a cigarette, on which he took an exaggerated drag that was clearly supposed to make him look cool. He puffed out a cloud of smoke which made his silhouette look strangely blurred.

With an overly subservient gesture the Slytherin bowed to Harry, feigning extreme awe. Then he sunk to his knees (how could a single man have so much derision in his eyes?) before the young wizard, grasped his hand with one swift movement, bent over and kissed it. He smiled tantalizingly as he let his tongue slide over the back of the black-haired boy's hand and fingers. The reluctant hero howled in disgust and pushed the kneeling Malfoy away with such force that he fell backwards in a heap.

Harry wiped his wet hand on his trousers, too disgusted to even look at it. Malfoy, who pulled himself up with a sneering laugh, had drooled over him as if he were a dog.

Of course they all knew the meaning of that display. Ever since his victory over the Dark Lord ,Harry irrevocably became the ultimate light in the dark, the saviour of the innocent and the national saint of the wizarding World. Not a day went by without further hymns of praise being published in some paper. All the journalists who had called Harry insane in the past now scrambled to get an interview with the stressed out hero.

And yes, there was a picture in yesterday's paper in which Harry was kissing a baby. In fact, he had only done it for the sake of its hysterically enthusiastic mother. The whole evening he kept complaining about how embarrassing this scene had been. But someone like Malfoy took advantage of such situations relentlessly.

Hermione thought that the arrogant blonde actually had a reason to be glad, because finally the newspapers wrote something about him, too. Of course, they only dwelled on his connection to the Death Eaters or speculated about his involvement in Dumbledore's murder. That, in turn, had made her sinister friend burst out with cold laughter, over and over again. But his laughter had become even louder at the sight of the baby-kissing picture.

As Hermione remembered this, she nearly wished her prisoner could be with her now. What would Malfoy have said then? He had probably kissed THOSE fingers without his tongue but with reverence. Malfoy, the bootlicker. And then he would have run away screaming.

What a poser… Well, it seemed that the Death Eaters and the time in Azkaban had given him a raw deal. He was thinner, hollow-cheeked and the once flawless face was marred by an ugly scar cutting across his cheek and throat.

But as he spoke to them, his voice still sounded as cold and dismissive as usual. The weeks he had spent in custody since the battle and the fact that Harry had rescued his life the last time they met didn't seem to impress him in the slightest.

His glance slid from Harry over Hermione to Ron. "Weasley, you're here too?" Draco raised his eyebrows in amusement and his glance wandered in feigned admiration from Ron's cheap shoes, over his brandless jeans up to his Walmart shirt, till it stopped on his carrot red hair. The boy in the designer clothes smirked and flashed his shiny white teeth.

Ron, who could only glower angrily at him, lowered his eyes in embarrassment and crossed his arms protectively in front of himself. Dressed in cheap clothes as usual, he seemed to feel downright naked next to the stylish Slytherin.

With relish, Malfoy took another drag from his cigarette. His lips seemed to form words as he blew out a slightly green cloud of smoke, which took the shape of a slithering snake. The emerald smoke serpent floated in their direction with an opened mouth, but before it could „bite" them, it was absorbed by Harry's drawn out wand.

Malfoy, however, seemed to consider how else he could make fun of Harry. Yes, the Gryffindor had saved his life. But exactly because of that, it seemed to be important to Draco to go on displaying his pride and disdain, to mask his shame. The hatred he felt towards Harry hadn't lessened since his rescue from the fire. With an expression of disgust, he tilted his head to one side and seemed to brainstorm for new ways to attack his saviour.

The door next to Malfoy flew open and Pansy Parkinson, obviously drunk, stumbled out of the bathroom she had apparently just had visited to vomit. But Pansy had never been a logical thinker and so she still clutched a half-empty bottle of vodka in her left hand. She hooked her right hand through Malfoy'd free arm. Attempting to strike a proud pose, but grinning stupidly at the same time, she joined in Malfoy's sneering cackle. "Oh, whom do we have here? Look, the special-offer boy, his creepy mudblood and our saviour, Batman."

Hermione was suddenly hot. She felt like she would suffocate, not only because of the stifling air in the room full of sweating people, but also from her fury at this despicable jerk and his fake, pretentious companion. Only a few weeks ago they had behaved quite differently. The two of them had whimpered and begged as they were being arrested by the Aurors.

She took a few steps forward. Ron grabbed her arm to pull her back. Hadn´t they decided to ignore these people? They weren't worth the effort it took to fight.

But Hermione wanted to fight. Right here, right now. She had had to bear the taunts of these Slytherins over and over again for years. Now she was done.

She shook Ron´s hand off and, without turning around, shrugged Harry's palm off her shoulder. She stood in front of them confidently with her hands on her hips, staring into the faces of their adversaries.

Pansy giggled. She was so drunk that she had to cling to Malfoy in order not to lose her balance from laughter.

Harry also took a step closer. "You're being rather unfriendly, Malfoy. Pity. You were so cuddly the last time we've seen each other. When you clung to me like a leech, howling with fear. Remember that? Maybe we should make it a little warmer in there." Harry pointed his wand at the suddenly blazing cigarette of his nemesis. "To make you affectionate again." The black-haired boy reminded the Slytherin, whose cheeks flushed slightly. It was a real pleasure to remind Malfoy of their escape from the flaming Room of Requirement.

Ron joined them too, determined not to be humiliated again. He even managed to make his voice sound almost as sneering as Malfoy's. "Since when are you out again, Malfoy? Where exactly has your family been? I'm not quite sure, was it jail or the madhouse? " Ron enquired, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Malfoy seemed to be so furious that he almost bit his cigarette. But then he took it out of his mouth and Hermione noticed that his usually ivory-coloured skin had turned slightly green. Malfoy reached out towards Ron and flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette onto his muscled shoulder.

In a fraction of a second Harry pulled out his wand again and pushed the tip against Malfoy's throat. The pressure made him lean backwards and arch his back.

At that moment, the fourth Gryffindor joined her friends. Ginny, who had been talking to some people from her year, appeared beside the suddenly frightened Pansy, her expression confused. The brown eyes of Ron's little sister wandered from Pansy and Draco to her friends till her gaze focused on the wand at Draco's throat.

As the blonde noticed Harry's attention shift to Ginny, his arrogance came back surprisingly fast. He lifted his hand and grasped the tip of Harry's wand between thumb and forefinger and slowly shoved the weapon away.

Now, upright again, he turned his torso towards Ginny, threw Harry a falsely commiserative glance and smiled appreciatively at the redhead standing beside his foe. "Oh Potter, I see you've brought someone with you? So, where have you been, Ginevra?"

Draco pushed the slightly staggering, but still stupidly grinning Pansy aside without even deigning to look at her. Then he gave his girlfriend a gentle shove that made her stumble backwards, so that she almost dropped the vodka bottle but caught it at the last second and then, with a loud thud, leaned heavily against the wall behind her.

Malfoy made no attempts to help his girlfriend, didn't even seem to see her. Both hands planted firmly in his pockets, he strode with tiger-like steps towards Ginny. "Hey Ginny, you don't look quite as shabby as the rest of your family."  
A devilish glint sparkled in Draco's silver-blue eyes and he slid a black leather moneybag out of his pocket.

Viciously chuckling, he walked a few steps closer to Ginny. The corners of her mouth trembled and the tiny bubbles in the corners of her lips made her look more like a rabid animal than a young girl. Just one more comment of that kind, (and the way he looked at her indicated that he had just concocted an especially mean one) and she would spit right into the pureblood's arrogant face.

Again, Draco turned to the other Gryffindors, lifted his money bag with obvious pleasure and pulled out some Galleons. He lifted the coins and displayed them theatrically, shoving them with one sweeping gesture first under Harry's nose, then Hermiones, Ron's and finally, Ginny's.

„But from what I've heard, Ginny, you already have a well paid job. Compared to your family, you've really made a brilliant career."

„What's that supposed to mean, asshole?" Ginny bristled with anger as she finally found words to release her fury.

Draco stood very close to her now, and waved the golden coins directly before her eyes while he stared at her seductively and eyed her from head to toe with appreciation, as if he wanted to devour her with desire. "Come on, Weasley." he whispered, now sounding rather aroused than scornful, and shoved a Galleon slowly and suggestively deep into Ginnys decollete. The ginger-haired girl, boiling with rage just moments ago, now appeared to have frozen. The elegant blonde's fingers were easily discernible through the thin material of her blouse as he caressed Ginny's breast playfully. "Ten Galleons, Weasley. I know, you've been in nearly every bed at Hogwarts. Now it´s my turn. Your family can live on that money for half a year." – he breathed, and then turned smugly to Hermione "You can join us if you like, Granger. I think you really need it, you dried-up bookworm."

That was too much. Many things happened at once. Ginny threw a furious punch at Draco while Ron and Harry balled their fists and prepared to lunge at the blonde Slytherin.

„STOP IT!" intervened Hermione, spreading her arms to restrain the two young men behind her.

Without thinking, she put the paralysing curses on them and approached the two Slytherins, who were nearly unable to breathe from laughter.

It was almost too easy. Her master had taught her well. A short gaze into Pansy's glassy eyes was enough. Smirking disdainfully, she approached Malfoy, who now also leaned against the wall, but with much more elegance than his girlfriend.

„Perhaps, rather than grope Ginny, you should pay more attention to your own girlfriend.", Hermione purred with a friendly wink before she delivered the next, devastating blow. "Maybe then she wouldn't run off to the ladies' room so often during your parties to pleasure herself with Nott and Zabini."

A single blow and Pansy was suddenly completely sober.

She screamed and dropped the vodka bottle. Her gaze flicked unbelievably fast from Hermione's face to Draco's. Draco gasped. Pansy´s panicked behaviour was proof enough that those hadn't been empty words. „Draco, I…that…" the guilty girl stuttered miserably, then pointed at Hermione and shrieked "SHE LIES!". But the desperate tone in her voice betrayed her.

Malfoy, his sarcasm all but wiped away, shifted his narrowed eyes to Hermione, who laughed disdainfully. "But it's not your fault, Draco. What else could she do? Since you've been in prison, you're simply unable to do certain things." Hermione grabbed Draco's trousers and pulled him closer violently, while her other hand pointed at his loins. "Completely dead inside.. Nothing's working anymore, is it?"

Radiating fake compassion, the brunette patted his cheek and pushed him back towards the wall and his unfaithful girlfriend. Draco wasn't used to such mean treatment from Hermione and all he could do was stare at her in amazement. Staring was good, and so was his insecurity, because it made it so much easier for her to invade his mind.

Voldemort had shown her how to use Legillimency to conjure up illusions in the minds of others. So now she took a few steps closer to Draco, assumed her version of Voldemort's most threatening, murderous gaze and murmured in a sinister tone "You'll go home now, Malfoy. You won't see me again for a while after the school starts again, but I think in September we'll meet at court. You're going to be reunited with some old acquaintances." For a fraction of a second, Hermione's face became flat, her skin white, and her eyes glowed like blazing red coals. „They're already waiting for you and they're looking forward to seeing you again."

Draco, who without a doubt recognized Voldemort in Hermiones illusion, let out a terrified shriek, threw himself backwards and almost toppled over the confused Pansy. He shot one last horror-struck look at Hermione, then grabbed his girlfriend's arm and ran for his life.

Hermione broke into an evil laugh and, savouring the exhilarating rush that came from using the Dark Arts, cheerfully waved the escaping couple goodbye.

"WHAT WAS THAT?" spluttered Ron, totally perplexed. Hermione looked at her friends, who seemed to be only slightly less frightened than Draco and Pansy.

"Yeah, Hermione." Harry finally found words again "What…how…where did you hear that about Pansy?" Ginny shied away from her as she strolled back to her fellow Gryffindors. "And which old acquaintances is he going to meet at the trial?" the ginger-haired girl challenged Hermione.

Ron's face looked as if someone had just shown him irrefutable proof that one and one equalled twenty. "Old acquaintances? Pansy…Malfoy´s impotent? But I thought you were taking care of Lucius? Why would Draco be so afraid of seeing his father?" Ron was utterly confused. He had been sure that Hermione was taking care of Lucius Malfoy. But then, why was Draco so frightened by Hermione's allusion? The tall young man gazed suspiciously at his all-knowing girlfriend.

Hermione threw him her well-practised "I know something and you don´t" look and smiled at her three friends, who still waited impatiently for her answer. "Yes, well.. YOU think so. However, I never said anything about Lucius. But let´s leave it at that."

Harry touched his scar absentmindedly and was obviously not ready to give up just yet. "That's so typical of you Hermione. You know something out but you still won't tell us what you're alluding to. Is it someone the Malfoys know well?"

„Much better than they would like, at least." Hermione flashed him her brightest know-it-all smile. Well, why should she lie? Knowing more than all the others, who could only make confused guesses, had always made her feel so much pleasure. And now, seeing her friends' brains almost overheat with the effort of trying to figure out the identity of her patient, she just couldn't help but enjoy her superior knowledge. However, it was probably better if she didn't mention the fact that she had just used Legillimency. They would never believe that she'd learned it during her study course abroad.

But Ron, who already knew that game, was obviously annoyed by her manner. "And…will we someday be allowed to know who he is or how he knows Malfoy's sex life?" As superior as she'd felt just a few seconds ago, this seemingly casual sentence made her extremely vulnerable again. "Yes, of course. You heard me. He'll attend the same trial during which Harry's supposed to testify. " she muttered weakly

That day, all her secrets would be revealed. That day would probably mark the end of some of the most important relationships in her life. And the reason for that all would die shortly after. Although she'd wished for nothing more during their horcrux hunt, now she realised with surprise that she would actually mourn his death. It wouldn't be just an unpleasant event, she was genuinely devastated by the knowledge that he would die. Of course, she was afraid she'd lose her friends when they heard about her secret, but the thought of what was coming AFTER the trial wasn't any less frightening.

"Come on, we should go now. I have to work tomorrow. I'm not allowed to say anything, you know that. But you'll find out everything when the trial starts, I promise." It was supposed to sound reassuring, but she didn't have to look at her friends to know that they looked worried.

Whatever they might have thought or sensed, it was clear to each of them that the trial would be the ultimate test of their friendship.

It was time to depart. Reflective and full of melancholy, each of the four friends made their way home separately.

xXx

As Hermione visited her patient the next day, she was haunted by the same thoughts that had invaded her mind the previous evening. Death penalty was the only possible sentence in the forthcoming trial. Apparently, everyone considered it to be the ultimate expression of justice. Hermione wished she knew how to feel about that.

Voldemort was sitting on his bed, feeding the black cat with an amused expression. In order to make the animal invisible to the Aurors and smuggle it in, Hermione had preformed a Disillusionment Charm she'd learned from her master. It wasn't the first time the cat was here in his room. After Hermione and her patient had made up again, she was once again inclined to do kind things for him.

He seemed to like this cat. And if his cold heart was able to like anything at all, then such behaviour ought to be encouraged. Of course, the very thought of his former pet, Nagini, made her hair stand on end, but Hermione still remembered that he seemed to prefer animals to people. So all she had to do was Accio the feline (poor flying cat), cast an invisibility charm and paralyse it. Then she could take it home. Back in the sickroom, she could lift the curse and the black stray was allowed to roam around. She'd brought some cat food which her patient could feed it, some strings and a few aluminium balls for the animal to play with.

Tactfully, Hermione turned around to make her "ward's" bed – she pretended to be distracted, but observed him surreptitiously. He was surprisingly gentle with the animal. For the first time, she saw something in his eyes that might be defined as enjoyment. He named the tomcat "Tomcat", which wasn't particularly inventive, but sometimes, when Hermione told him it had caught a mouse or a bird, he called it "Killer" and his eyes seemed to sparkle with pride. In moments such as these, Hermione almost couldn´t hold herself back to hug him.

She didn't bring the cat every day, just three or four times a week. Today was one of such days.

The cat romped all over the room and tried to catch the tidbits of food tossed by the tall, pale man who sat on his bed in the middle of the room. Then the hunting instinct took over and the little tiger jumped onto the bed and sank its small teeth into Voldemort's big hand and braced its hind paws against his arm.

He, the lord, hardly seemed to notice this cute little game. But sometimes, when he thought she was looking away, he participated in the mock fight, and even scratched the cat's ears and belly. So Hermione, who sat beside him on the bed, tried to appear as busy as possible in order to give her "fosterling" a chance to play undisturbed with his cat.

But now she was really distracted. She was relating her heroic deeds from the previous evening - gesturing wildly, she told him how easy it had been to use Legillimency on Draco and Pansy and how shocked her two unsuspecting victims had looked.

Her "master" always liked it when she told him stories like this. She could recognize that from the fact that he didn't interrupt her and looked at her with less scorn than usual. Of course, it flattered his vanity, every time she proved how much she´d learned during his lessons. But the sole fact that her victim had been Draco Malfoy seemed enough to guarantee the story a favourable reception.

„That felt good, didn't it?" he enquired after she ended her report.

"YES! SO GOOD! I know it was mean, but he had it coming for years." Hermione replied with conviction. She punched the air in a gesture of triumph. "Hermione Granger will not be pushed around anymore."  
BANG! To corroborate her words, her fist smashed onto the mattress with full force and caused the poor tomcat to shoot off the bed and hide under the tub. Voldemort grimaced reprovingly, but as their eyes met, Hermione noticed with surprise that he was actually smiling at her. Not cynically, but rather.. proudly, like a…father? The unfamiliar expression made his snake-like face look almost human.

She had to admit - she and her "fosterling" had been getting on quite well recently. But what if this was another attempt to manipulate her? Who could tell? Yet, even if it was just calculation on his part, it was still a welcome change from what they'd been going through before. And because of that, Hermione smiled back.

Suddenly, the skeletal, white hand lifted and immediately Hermione became afraid he would hit her again or do something equally cruel. Startled, she winced, hunched her shoulders and tried to lean away from him, but she could already feel the could touch of his fingers as he.. stroked her head.

For the shortest moment, during which the hair on the nape of her neck stood on end and her whole body covered with goosebumps, she could feel the gentle pressure of all five fingers resting on the back of her head. The hand slid down slowly, paused at her neck and then his thumb burrowed into her bushy hair, brushed a dark curl aside softly and touched her skin. It wandered up from her throat to her chin, then retraced its path with a slight pressure.

Hermione froze. This brief stroke of a single finger, which slid across her throat like the tip of a tongue, the gentle tingling that remained after the touch of his fingernail like an invisible mark, made her blood run cold. She was almost certain she would faint from shock.

But the hand was drawn back as suddenly as it had reached out before. And yet, a prickle remained, and resonated like an echo across her skin.

Utterly confused, her eyes searched for his, but he averted his gaze and seemed again to devote all his attention to the tomcat, who had slunk back onto the bed and curled up between them, purring.

However, after a closer look it seemed there was just a hint of a smile on his lips.

Hermione was at a loss what to think about such an expression of, for the lack of a better word, non-hate, and so she decided to act as if nothing had happened.

And to escape, as fast as possible. That was the priority…

Her eyes cast down shamefully and her lips pressed into a thin line, she tried to regain her poise. "I…I'll be going now. I´m taking the cat. We'll see each other tomorrow." Hermione stammered so miserably that her own threatening tone from last night seemed to have been an illusion.

Hastily, she picked up all the things she had to put on the trolley, grabbed the paralysed tomcat and ran out as fast as she could.


	17. Therapy success?

** All: **_Just a beta-update. Sorry. I guess chapter 19 will come in two or three weeks. Till then..._

**_Beta: Dark Empress V –kiss-_**

* * *

**Chapter 17: Therapy success?**

People like Hermione Granger are sometimes ridiculed as do-gooders, mostly by those who tend towards egoism. However, this mockery is not entirely unfounded , because the young Gryffindor always did try to fight all injustice and help solve problems.

For the past several months, the latest victim of Hermione's philanthropy was none other than Lord Voldemort. She was on a mission to find the human being behind the monster.

This undertaking could be justified, in Hermione's opinion, with four assumptions:

Firstly: No human being is ever one hundred percent evil. Men and women always possess both positive and negative qualities.

Secondly: In the case of Lord Voldemort, one has to look very thoroughly to find any positive qualities. The circumstances must be extraordinarily favourable.

Thirdly: Taking into account his origins and the unhappy childhood associated with it_, one must allow for the possibility of a mental disorder_ which had contributed to his transformation into an unscrupulous beast. Therefore, if he is indeed ill, then a cure, or at least therapy, is possible.

These first three points build the foundation of the fourth assumption: If there exists a "therapy" that would make Tom Riddle more human, then maybe there is also a chance to make him see the enormity of the evil he had done.

No one can bring the dead back to life again. No one can heal the pain of the victims. But maybe some self-knowledge and remorse could at least become a kind of comfort, or justice, maybe even a form of redress to his victims.

After Hermione had gone through numerous psychology books in her usually thorough fashion, she came to the assumption that her fosterling suffered not only from an inferiority complex, for which he tried to compensate with megalomania, but probably also from severe Muggle-phobia.

His hatred towards „mudbloods" was the logical result of his antipathy towards muggles.

On numerous occasions, she had tried to make him aware of these disorders through "therapy talks", but so far they hadn't been particularly successful. Something more was necessary.

The behavioural therapy sometimes uses desensitization as a way of curing phobias. Targeted, controlled confrontations with fear to reveal its foolishness to the subject.

That was Hermione's latest plan - to bombard Tom Marvolo Riddle with as many positive things about Muggles as possible till he had to admit that not everything about them was dumb and bad.

In order to give the trick a chance to work, Hermione compiled a list of things from the Muggle world that a) might be compelling to a man, and b) would be possible to demonstrate at all.

Take riding a motorcycle, for example. Seems like a great idea….but impossible, because he was locked up in this cell. Same problem with playing soccer.

Hermione would also loved to play with Playstation or show him the Internet, but because of all the magic accumulated around St Mungo´s, Muggle technology wouldn't work there. Pity… but she told him about it. Unfortunately, watching TV was out too.

So in order to compensate for these inconveniences, Hermione "amused" her surprisingly none-too-enthusiastic patient with reports about the latest dramatic developments in her favourite soap-opera, which she watched with avid interest in a muggle pub after work.

Since Hermione had no money to buy expensive robes for him at Madam Malkins, he had to make do with the Muggle clothes she brought him. They were a colourful composition of special offers and flea market finds and so it wasn't a surprise that his enthusiasm at seeing them was rather contained. But since he knew that the only alternative was to go naked..

Music wasn't bad too. In her former life, that is, in the time before she knew about her magical powers, the young Gryffindor had been taking guitar-lessons. She still had her old guitar. After a very pleasant but admittedly a little half-hearted visit to her parents, she brought the guitar temporarily to England. Even better - lo and behold, she still was able to play it!

Wasn't music therapy a recognized psychological treatment in the Muggle world? She really loved this idea. She still remembered how to play several songs. "Candle in the wind" had always been one of her favourites.

Allright, so her „Lord" didn't say anything directly, but it couldn't be a coincidence that the cat peed on her guitar right after she ended her performance. Of course, her prisoner denied any responsibility for that unfortunate accident; after all, cats tended to mark their territory.. But the malicious glint that appeared in his eye when Hermione was putting the guitar away with disgust spoke for itself.

Since Hermione did not want to give up her idea of music therapy, she decided to reconsider her genre choices. She brought along Ron's wooden radio, and tuned in to "Sweeney Todd". The tale of a vindictive barber who killed his costumers. Hemione was sure her patient would love that. Strangely enough, he called it disgusting, but he bore it rather well.

Hermione, however, already had a new, ingenious (in her opinion) idea. Since she had started to take care of him, his meals consisted of sandwiches, fruit, pumpkin juice, milk, and mineral water. Even though he didn't admit it, she noticed how sick he was of all this.

Even so, the dark Lord did not seem to be in the slightest inclined to accept her alternative offer.

"And what is this?!" he snarled at her threateningly, taking a few steps away from Hermione, who was leaning over his bed with a grin, waving a bulging paper bag cheerfully.

„YOU wanted to eat something else. So here you go. Try it." exclaimed Hermione confidently, towering over her patient, who seemed to draw back even further away. The young girl lurked with the left hand, her right arm raised high as if she was the Statue of Liberty and holding a torch, not a McDonald's bag.

The whole room was filled with the heavy, pervasive smell of fries and roasted meat. The small cellar windows could only be left ajar and never fully opened. Furthermore, they were approximately the size of a shoe box, so they did not let too much fresh air into the room. Consequently, the place smelled like an exceptionally large deep-fry pan.

That did not seem to bother Hermione, who continued to beam at him. "Oh, just try it. I brought something else for the cat. But what I got for you here is really tasty."

"I don't eat Muggle food." he almost choked, obviously nauseated. "Take it away, throw it out, and bring me something else." thundered the commanding voice of the Dark Lord while his white, outstretched arm pointed at the bag as if he would sentence the poor thing to death.

The mood-flower radiated a pleasant but threatening azure blue.

„I´m sorry. No can do. I'm completely broke. Today is Saturday and I won't get my salary until Monday. So either you eat that" she lifted the bag again "or nothing. I don't have anything else and I don't have any money to buy you something new."

That sounded almost honest. Hermione was deeply proud of her new idea. McDonalds… well, if that wasn't a typical Muggle food, what was? And he reacted exactly the way she had thought he would.

She hopped backwards onto the bed, placed the bag next to her and patted the mattress next to her to demand him to sit down.

And he did indeed approach her - hands crossed behind his back, his lower jaw rigid with disgust, his nose wrinkled and his gleaming red eyes narrowed to tiny slits.

Actually, he looked as if he would rather eat Hermione than the contents of the bag. He definietly seemed ready to bite her head off.

Normally it would have intimidated her, but a few details prevented that. The first one was that she new him well enough to know that the idea of an entire weekend without food would eventually make him give in. Then there was the way he was dressed. It was August and the room was terribly hot, so he just wore black boxers and a thin, black shirt. One of Hermione's cheap clothes combinations. And even though he'd gained weighted recently, the clothes were still too large. His smooth, pearly skin seemed even paler contrasted with the black clothes, so he looked like a tall, white skeleton dressed in black. Tough luck, but looking like that, he didn't seem frightening at all.

In order to lend more dignity to his appearance, he attempted to look majestic. His back straight as if he had just swallowed a stick, he slowly sat on the bed next to Hermione.

Full of distrust, he looked at the offensive bag emitting such an unfamiliar smell.

"There you go. That's it." Hermione triumphed over the hungry Heir of Slytherin. Then, before his vengeance could reach her, she jumped from the bed and walked over to the trolley to fetch the two milk-shakes she'd also brought along.

"So, I have vanilla and chocolate. But, of course, you don't like vanilla anymore." She said with a friendly wink as she pressed the chocolate shake into his hand.

But somehow, even that did not seem to stir up any enthusiasm in him.

"It stinks miserably. Disgusting, like everything else about Muggles." He hissed irritably, and his red eyes gleamed purple in the dark-blue light of the mood-flower.

"Eat or die" crowed Hermione, certain of her victory, and plopped down into the chair behind her. She leaned back and placed her small, naked feet on his bed.

The innocent bag still lay next to him, smelling enticingly and waiting to be opened.

The battle was won. The Heir of Slytherin grabbed the overflowing bag, reached inside, pulled out an oversized burger and unwrapped it reluctantly. Judging from his look, she might as well have asked him to eat the contents of a freshly filled diaper.

Hermione snatched her own bag which lay on the floor beside her chair, unpacked a burger and began to eat. Her body shook with barely suppressed giggles. She tried really hard, but he simply looked too funny eyeing his meal with such mistrust.

Murderous glares hit Hermione, but she continued to eat unperturbed. Now there was no escape. Tom Riddle sighed resignedly, yielded to his fate and bit into the triple-burger.

SPLAT! Suddenly, he was only holding the roll in his hands while its contents –meat, vegetables and cheese - lay splattered all over his lap.

„That's disgusting. Clean it up, immediately!" he yelled at her furiously, searching for something to wipe his hands, a disgusted expression on his face. One flick of her wand and everything that had slipped out found its way back into the burger.

He tried again…and the contents landed on the bed. The third attempt would have sent them to the floor if Hermione's Levitation Charm hadn't caught them just in time. It cost her a lot of effort to suppress a violent fit of laughter.

"Come on, I'll help you. I´ll do that." She rose from her comfortable chair with a groan and placed herself in front of her patient. She showed him how he had do hold his fingers and put her own fingers on the roll too to secure it. Now he finally managed to bite into his burger. Growling in annoyance, he shoved her aside because he was now able to do it alone.

The hunger left him no other choice. All she had brought aside from the fast food was some fruit, and he would have to keep it for Sunday. But the bag was pretty full of different kinds of burgers and fries. Since in the end the bag was empty, the food probably didn't taste as bad as he had feared.

There now, Hermione thought with satisfaction. I'll get you some Chinese on Monday.

And there was plenty of fast food cuisine from many different nations in London. They had a lot to look forward to in that regard.

Filled with pride at her accomplishment, Hermione savoured the rest of her meal. But she still had another surprise for him.

Hermione smiled mysteriously as she sat herself next to her ward on the bed. "I've got something else for you."

Immediately suspicious, Voldemort placed a little more distance between himself and his young benefactress.

„What is it?" he asked, visibly tense, remembering all of Hermione's previous surprises.

She started giggling in great anticipation, sat on her heels and waved her beaded bag in front of his face. But then her movements became slower, and she bent over the bag as if she wanted to hide what she was about to pull out. She opened the bag slowly, almost with relish, and winked at her patient as she pulled out a book with a sweeping movement. She presented it to him with flourish, holding it out in both hands, beaming.

„Oh." A sigh escaped from Voldemort's mouth, who looked as if his worst fears had been confirmed. "A book again. The same sort as the last time?"

Hermione's smile faltered and a slightly pink flush covered her cheeks, turning into a deep red at her ears.

„No, it's something else." She muttered embarrassed and laid the book in her lap.

Ah yes, the last time. Last week she'd also brought a book for him. Of course, she did it more often than just those two times. After all, she wanted to make good use of her Muggle library card. So far, she had been bringing him the classic works of famous Muggle authors. Even though he hadn't looked enthusiastic about these books, it seemed that he read them. Well, at least she had caught him with his nose buried in one of the books more than once as she entered the room to begin her work.

After all, days were long, and he had to do _something_… So she had come up with the idea of using this need of his for therapeutic purposes. Last week, with her pedagogical goals firmly in mind, she had chosen another famous book.

Oliver Twist.

A novel about a poor, orphaned boy who had to grow up in a London orphanage, then got mixed up with the wrong crowd but managed not to be corrupted and finally found his way back to the light side.

Unfortunately he'd already heard about that book. It was a long time since she'd seen him really angry, but then….well, it's enough to mention that the whole room had turned the deepest shade of blue from the mood flower. Every blue light would have been envious.

Now, book in hand, Hermione crawled closer to her fosterling who backed away with his snake-like nose wrinkled. All for naught. Hermione was right beside him and her knees slipped down over the edge of the bed so that now their legs dangled next to each other. Gathering her courage again, she winked at Voldemort. "No, no more books about poor orphans. This is something completly different. Take a look." And without waiting for an answer, she jerked her hip and threw the book onto his lap.

Full of distrust, he eyed the black, ancient looking, leather-bound book. Then he dared to touch it, lifted it carefully and began to examine it from all sides. Title and the author's name were engraved on the book cover, also in black, so they weren't that easy to notice at first sight.

When he finally saw the letters, Voldemort knitted his „eyebrows" and muttered „Marquis de Sade." Perplexed, he raised his head and glanced at her for explanation. "Who is that? What is the book about?"

Hermione wasn't able to repress a girlish giggle, threw her bushy hair over her shoulder and murmured conspiratorially. "That" still giggling, she pointed at the black book, which looked almost weird in Voldemort's white hands. "That´s Marquis de Sade."

„Yes, I can see that for myself." He replied irritably. "But what did he write about?"

Hermione flushed even deeper than before, and covered her mouth with her hand as if she didn't want to be seen saying the things she would have to tell him now.

"The Marquis de Sade lived in 19th century France. He wrote some philosophy books, among other things. But that" - now she had to avert her gaze from his red eyes. "Well, that´s „Justine". It contains very detailed.. Um, very detailed descriptions of.. of sadomasochistic sex scenes. And I thought .. Well, you are Lord Voldemort. And you know, just this association … the Dark Lord – Marquise de Sade." A shy glance at him told her that the Dark Lord was starting to doubt her sanity yet again. She hurried to explain her choice further. "And you´re a man. And well…." An embarrased cough broke her nervous stammering. „Erm, yeah…and I thought... You´re here all alone for months. And you hadn't… and you couldn't…" Hermione's ears got more and more red with each word. "And if men cannot… for such a long time, they'll surely get frustrated, won't they? And so I thought… something sadomasochistic, written by someone famous... I thought.. you would like that."

Voldemorts facial expression, almost fearful a moment ago, now changed slowly. His eyes widened, his already narrow lips became an almost invisible slit and he clicked his tongue audibly. Then he lifted the book again and seemed to want to make sure that what he'd just heard wasn't a sign of his own mental illness. He cleared his throat, pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose for a moment and looked at Hermione, who was so tense with anticipation of his verdict that she'd clenched her hands into fists.

"So" he said in a calm, thoughtful voice "You brought me this book because the author's name reminded you of what I am. Correct?" Hermione pressed her lips together, her eyes darting left and right uncertainly, but finally she managed a tense nod.

Voldemort sighed again, flipped the book open and put his finger on the first page. "And you are also of the opinion that I get aroused by sadistic phonography. Moreover, you think I am sexually frustrated and you would like me to.. let us say..alleviate that feeling with the help of this book?" he questioned with an unfathomable expression.

Uncertain about how she should interpret his reaction, Hermione could just shrug helplessly and nod. But when he said it like that, it all sounded rather silly.

His bony, white hand was pressed to his nearly lipless mouth. Hermione had the impression that he was trying to stop himself from laughing.

Instead, his large hand suddenly flew away from his face and patted her on the knee in a good-natured manner. It lifted slightly as if he wanted to pull back, but then it was lowered again onto Hermione's naked leg and remained there with a slight pressure.

He hesitated. His pale tongue slid over his thin lips in an almost nervous movement. His breath, steady and calm just a moments ago, now seemed to quicken and grow slightly louder, as if about to erupt into an almost indecent gasp.

The hand on her thigh seemed to tremble ever so slightly and pause, perhaps waiting for resistance. It did not come. Hermione felt a bit unsettled and yet, she did not move. She waited to see what he would do if she did not stop him. It wasn't the first moment like this between them, nor the first touch.

What would happen if she played along? If she moved her legs just a little further apart and her thighs touched his? She knew he was watching her from the corner of his eye. What if she yielded to the tingling on her skin, closed her eyes and indicated that it wasn't forbidden to take this indecent little game further..?

It wasn't much, at least not at first glance. But upon a closer look one could see the straying white finger stroke her thigh slowly and, as the leg moved a little closer, bury itself gently in the hollow of the young woman's knee while a slightly hesitant hand slid to the inside of her thigh and clawed more insistently at the warm flesh.

Maybe she could do a little more.. The hand with which she used to support herself lifted, and tender fingertips brushed the black fabric of his shirt. It was almost imperceptible, she was barely touching him, but the moment it happened, his whole body seized as if an electric shock had gone through it. He arched his back, his body stiffened and shivered as Hermione ran her fingertips a little less gently upwards along his spine until they slid off his shirt, touched the white skin and made slow, circling movements over the back of his neck.

She felt burning in her fingertips, her hand, her arm.. The heat spread itself through her shoulder into her chest until her whole body pulsed.. The hand on her thigh was about to slip under the skirt of her dress.

But at that exact moment he regained control. His hand withdrew abruptly and clutched at Marquis de Sade's book in a way that seemed almost defensive. "That was most considerate of you. Very well, I´ll read it."

Hermione's hand was back in her lap.

Well, it had gone much better than she'd expected. Maybe erotic books could really "help" him..

Hermione's skin still remembered his touch from a few days ago This gesture had been impossible to misinterpret. And so was the way he had touched her today. Weren't his intentions obvious? Hermione was much too proud and too embarrassed to admit that the reason she hadn't resisted was because... she had enjoyed it.

No, I definitely cannot think of him as my child, Hermione admitted to herself in her thoughts.

Encouraged by the almost companionable silence, she asked „Have you ever had a wife or a girlfriend?"

He stood up, shaking his head. He put the book on the bedside table bed and walked to the opposite end of the room. "No." his tall figure turned towards her as he stopped next to the window. He crossed his arms, leaned against the wall and shook his head again, more decisively "I already told you. I get no pleasure from these things. Love…" he scoffed, disgusted. „A pitiful excuse used by the weak to justify their helplessness. They are meaningless and all they can hope for is that their miserable lives won't be completely redundant or that they can blame someone else for their own mediocrity." He gave Hermione a contemptuous glance.

No matter how friendly he seemed sometimes, he still despised her and everything she stood for. These glances still hurt her because they showed how very far she was from achieving her goal. The only reason he listened to her was because he was bored. He was as cold and as heartless as ever.

But Hermione wasn't ready to give up just yet. "How can you be so certain if you've never tried it?! Listen!" Hermione crossed her legs, lifted a finger and tried to explain her reasoning to this defiant "child", who was now at least looking at her again. Even though the gaze dripped with contempt.

"Yet again you are rejecting things you know nothing about." She moralized fervently. "How can you know that you wouldn't like it, if you never even tried to have a deeper relationship with someone?" she pointed at herself now, coming up to him, her head high and her voice full of conviction. "I've known Ron since my first days in Hogwarts. He's my first real boyfriend and I think I'm going to marry him some day. In fact, I'm sure of it. Am I weak because I dare to enjoy what he can offer to me? Closeness, intimacy, security… You know nothing about these things."

Voldemort had had decades of practise in contemptuous rejection of all arguments advocating the value of morals and friendship.

His eyes narrowed, and his relaxed posture suddenly became tense as his long white fingers clawed into his crossed arms. The mood-flower started to shine blue again and his breathing grew heavier. He towered over her threateningly, waiting for her to go too far.

But Hermione wouldn't have been herself if she hadn't told him anyway what she considered to be morally valuable. "Everyone wants these things. You're lying to yourself if you contradict that. But perhaps that's the point." Hermione tilted her head and began to twist a lock of her hair on her finger thoughtfully. "It's like a pattern. You don't even want to be human. You think that by rejecting everything human you become stronger. But you are wrong. You just make yourself weak by denying yourself true happiness and you don't even see it."

Suddenly, amusement replaced anger on the snakelike face. Obviously he'd just come up with a new idea to dismiss Hermione's beliefs as misconceptions.

"You and your friends, haven't you adored that old fool, Dumbledore? But didn't he also die alone?" he asked with satisfaction. His gaunt figure passed Hermione, he turned on his heels and walked to the other end of the room. Then he started pacing, recounting his arguments angrily.

He could never keep himself still while talking about Dumbledore. The hatred that surged up within him was too intense to let him stay in one place. Even in death, Dumbledore managed to make him lose control to his wrath and envy.

Yet, it did not keep him from continuing his contemptuous speech. "He knew very well that love stood in the way of higher aims. But of course, he wouldn't say that to you children. He and his love… his secret weapon…. But love didn't protect him from my curses in the end, did it?"

He threw her a disdainful glance over his shoulder, and waved his hand at her mockingly. She understood the gesture instantly. An allusion to Marvolo Gaunt's cursed ring, which would have killed Dumbledore anyway if Snape or Draco had failed.

Even though he hadn't killed Dumbledore with his own hands, he was still responsible for the Headmaster's death.

Suddenly, rage flamed up in Hermione. Yet again, he was demonstrating his alleged superiority. The great Dark Lord, who felt nothing but amusement and pride with regard to his despicable actions. If he managed to even remember them, of course.

Perhaps it was childish, but she wanted to hurt him as badly as possible in return. "Maybe you're just making the most of your abilities. Dumbledore always did say that you were unable to love." Hermione's sneering gaze travelled lower and lower until it stopped below his abdomen, her expression hardly ambiguous. „Well, it seems that my assumptions have been correct. You clearly haven't.. risen up to the occasion more than once."

He understood her sarcastic taunt perfectly. He slid towards her in a fluid, snake-like movement, stopped abruptly and towered over her, his expression threatening.

Slightly awkward, but still defiant, Hermione changed her position and pushed herself upwards to meet his eyes levelly. Her voice dripping with false compassion, she patted his cheek insolently. "You poor dear. How long has it been since you were able to manage it?"

Her hand was slapped away furiously, like a bothersome insect. He glared at her with murderous hatred. His hand was still raised, frozen in an undefined movement, as if he was still considering whether he was going to hit her or not.

Hermione's hand disappeared into the folds of her cloak and emerged holding a wand, which she pressed warningly against his throat. She'd learned a lot from him. Threatening glances and gestures… One could express so much without words..

Unsurprisingly, he still didn't seem intimidated, but instead started to laugh at her in obvious amusement. "You silly girl." In an expression of utmost contempt, his forefinger touched her forehead with what might have been mistaken for tenderness "Don't be so stupid as to think you would stand a chance."

Images from the day he had tried to wrest the wand from her flashed through her mind again. Healed up wounds flared with pain again. He couldn't defeat her with a wand, but he was still able to knock her down. And he sent her these pictures on purpose to tantalise and discourage her.

An icy, invisible hand clutched at her throat as the flaming red eyes stared into hers. But she wouldn't admit defeat that easily. She broke the eye-contact and managed to push him out of her mind.

He summarised her efforts with a derisive nod, turned around and started pacing again. "And you are wrong, of course. I had a very satisfying sexual life before my captivity. Lots of women let me have my way with them." the Heir of Slytherin boasted. Then his voice lost its swagger and took on a more wistful tone. "I liked it. I liked sex and I had many different women." His eyes gazed off into the distance and took on that strange glint she´d noticed a few times before, every time he had spoken about his past.. Every time he remembered things he would never be able to do or have again.

„Did any of them do it voluntarily?" Hermione broke his nostalgic reverie harshly. She slipped off the bed quickly, certain she had gone too far. Better be prepared if he… but he did nothing. Hermione was rather confused as she noticed that her prisoner turned around and walked over to the window instead of punishing her. The rage in his face was replaced by emptiness. "You should go now. That's enough for today." She looked at his profile, and he appeared to be - was it possible..?- slightly flushed.

Keeping his eyes away from her, he walked over to the tub and extracted the curled up cat. He threw a brief glance in Hermione's direction, but finally brought himself to scratch the animal's ears and then pressed the freshly awoken, indignantly growling furball into the arms of his nurse.

She hated it when he sent her home like some silly schoolgirl, but then again, why should she stay with him any longer than necessary? Especially when his moods changed as fast as they did today. It was just a job, nothing private. Wasn't it?

Consumed by her thoughts, Hermione walked out onto the street and set out for the place from which she could apparate to the Leaky Cauldron.

Why had she been sent away? Why would he want to avoid this topic? Hermione was almost certain that he didn't feel embarrassed about his body (she'd seen him naked lots of times) nor about anything he had done with it. Still, he had sent her away even though she had been there just one and a half hour.

After all, her question had been foolish and unnecessary. Had she forgotten that she and her patient got along with each other best when she didn't delve too much into his past? Disgusted, she kept remembering the things he´d said.

He had often had sex? But with whom? Certainly not with one of his female Death-Eaters. He would have been much to paranoid to put his guard down with one of these powerful witches. Even though some of them would have only be too happy to be called to perform this particular task. Bellatrix Lestrange definietly would, in any case. But if a woman were to give herself to him voluntarily, perhaps multiple times.. That would have been much too close to emotions, that would have _unsettled_ him. He definitely had no children, he'd probably made sure that something like that would never happen. In his life, there had never been a place or interest for children. They'd only have become his competition. Or worse, he might have actually liked them..

In the past, when he'd been young, he had probably invented flattering lies and created illusions to make these women want him. Later on, he might have considered it unnecessary. So…who was it? Victims, captives, just before they died… females he'd raped before the eyes of their fathers, brothers, sons or husbands, just to humiliate them? Perhaps…

Was Helen one of them? She´d never said a word that would indicate anything of the sort had ever happened. But maybe it was just luck or pure coincidence that prevented him from touching her. In any case, whoever his lovers had were… his sexual life had defiantly nothing to do with affection or voluntary intercourse..

Strangely enough, even when she confronted him with these actions, he didn't seem as proud or unapproachable as usual. One might think he wanted to avoid this topic. As if he didn't want to remember. Was it at all conceivable that he felt ashamed for some of his crimes?

There was another thing that made Hermione wonder. When he had caressed her, could there have been any doubt as to what he had had in mind? It hadn't been the first touch of that kind between them.. This forbidden game of implications and hints, covert gazes and gestures.. They had played it for quite a while. It almost gave her pleasure - this apparent hesitation of her.. suitor?

He, who had taken so many women by force was unsettled by.. lack of resistance?

Hermione played with dominance and power by remaining still for the shortest moments or responding to the softest breath of a touch. This game was dangerous, she knew. And yet the game never became reality.

If he was accustomed to getting whatever he wanted, why hadn't he just taken what he desired? If it hadn't seemed so absurd, she'd almost have thought his awkward "advances" could actually mean affection.

It would have been nice to believe he felt uncomfortable, even embarrassed about his earlier sexual life, that he might even have realized how repulsive the things he did were to others.. That he felt ashamed of having taken all these women against their will.

For a single, wonderful moment Hermione hoped that he didn't want to be a slave to his urges anymore. That he was willing to try other ways to get close to someone, without breaking the boundaries. Wouldn´t that mean Hermione's therapy was at least a little successful?

However, it was probably just her imagination.

Hermione was almost ashamed as she caught herself with a humiliating thought that since she was a "Mudblood" he might consider her unworthy to be even raped by him.

Her ears suddenly turned very red. Yet another thought she could never share with anyone else for the rest of her life. It was much too embarrassing to ever say aloud.

Great, now she felt offended because she hadn't been raped..

Hermione walked towards the Leaky Cauldron, consumed by her thoughts. She didn't notice the people around her, wasn't even aware that whenever she thought of her prisoner, her hand wandered to her neck, touching the place where he had caressed her.

Back in her room, Hermione's gaze fell onto a photo standing on her night table. A framed, black-and-white picture of her and Ron embracing each other, kissing over and over again.

Ron. She might be mistaken, but it seemed that the mood of her unpredictable friend had shifted from calm to aggressive the moment she told him how happy she was with Ron.

No, that couldn't be true. Hermione lifted Ron's picture and looked at her red-haired boyfriend with a tender smile.

Voldemort wasn't jealous of Ron, was he?


	18. About Flying

**Beta: Dark Empress V**

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**Chapter 18: About Flying**

It was a particularly sultry day in August. The dark and usually cool cellar was filled with a suffocating heat. Even though the spells which had been put on the room made it impossible for nearly every creature to get into the cell (or to leave it) without permission, it seemed that this didn't apply to the countless flies and mosquitoes whirring around the room. Perhaps, and Hermione wouldn't put it past Claris, these mosquitoes had been caught, trained to be particularly bloodthirsty and then sent into their room to torment them.

Hermione sweated as she sat on the cool stone-floor listening to the music floating out of Ron's old wooden radio, which he had lent her after a bit of persuasion. The buzzing of the countless mosquitoes almost drowned out the excruciatingly sentimental songs of Celestina Warback. Next to her floated several fans made from newspapers pages, pushing some fresh air towards her and almost managing to create a soft breeze.

Hermione wore a short, orange, spaghetti-strap dress. The material was supposed to be cool, but she was dripping with sweat.

Voldemort didn't sweat, Hermione noticed jealously. However he managed it, he wasn't likely to inform her. Instead, he sat on the bed completely relaxed with the purring tom cat curled up in his lap and entertained his visitors with curious little tricks.

To distract himself from Celestina's songs and Hermione's moaning about Mrs. Weasley's passion for this, erm.. performer, the black-clad figure on the bed made the flies and mosquitoes fly in various unnatural formations.

Hermione knew he'd always possessed the power to control animals, but to see it with her own eyes was astonishing.

The animals crowded together, looking like a thick, black cloud. The cloud changed its form at his whim. First, he sent snakes buzzing across the room, then the formation took the shape of a school of fish, then a camel-caravan and finally, it turned into a dragon.

As the game started to bore him, the dragon transformed into a racing broom which drowned itself with a loud splash in the toilet.

Not exactly to Hermione's taste, but today she was so frustrated with the bugs that she laughed anyway.

„I whish I could do the same with Ron's broom, just drown it in the loo. He's really getting on my nerves with this whole Quidditch obsession." She confessed, rolling her eyes.

„You don't like Quidditch?" Voldemort asked, not sounding particularly interested as he got up from the bed to take the howling radio from Hermione and finally turn it off.

"No, but that battle is lost. Ron and Harry-", Hermione threw a sideways glance at her patient, whose eyes flashed an angry red as she mentioned these hated names- "They're both crazy about Quidditch. They want to fly on their brooms all day long. Look at what I must wear again." Hermione jumped up and parodied a catwalk model, showing off her orange dress sarcastically.

"It's a dress. So?" he commented, almost rolling his eyes at her dramatic expression .

„YES! A dress! Hermione answered shrilly, lifted the dress with both hands as if she were a princess walking down the stairs. "But it's ORANGE!" she wailed while she shook the piece of fabric angrily, so that a cooling breeze caressed her thighs.

„I hate orange! Ron put a extra charm on it so that I can't change the colour again. His Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, became Britain's Champions yesterday.. And they are", Hermione bowed subserviently to the imaginary Quidditch team," ORANGE! As orange as orange can be. And I absolutely LOATHE this colour!" she raged, drawing several almost hysterical breaths.

He chuckled quietly, watching her with a malicious glint in his eyes.

But she wasn't done ranting.

„And do you know what the worst thing is?" she bore down on him as if he were to blame for everything that was orange in the world.

„Do tell.. or don't.. Whatever you wish…" the tall figure replied in a sneering tone, sitting back on the bed and observing Hermione's fit of anger with something akin to fascination.

"ALL OF THE WEASLEYS HAVE ORANGE HAIR!" she yelled hysterically, kicking the wooden radio in disgust as if it was its fault that it belonged to the Weasley clan.

„And even worse… Ron wants to wear nothing but orange clothes for the rest of the week. ORANGE HAIR AND ORANGE CLOTHES! DO YOU NOW HOW AWFUL THIS LOOKS? AND HE EVEN CHARMED THE WALLS IN MY ROOM AT THE LEAKY CAULROON TO TURN ORANGE!" Hermione waved her arms theatrically and stamped her foot on the floor, so it made her look almost like a raging Rumpelstiltskin . "AND NOW HE'S GOING TO STAY WITH ME THE WHOLE WEEK AND I'M ABSOLUTELY SURE HE´S SITTING THERE RIGHT NOW, GUARDING THE WALL SO I WON'T CHANGE THE COLOUR AGAIN! AND SOME DAY WE WILL HAVE CHILDREN AND THEY WILL BE AS ORANGE AS HIM! I´M CONDEMNED TO SPEND THE REST OF MY DAYS WITH A FLYING CARROT" Hermione howled, seemingly on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

The pale man sitting cross-legged on the bed couldn't suppress laughter any longer as he watched Hermione throw herself on the bed, sink her teeth into a pillow as if she wanted to tear it apart and thump her fist on the innocent cushion.

He gave Hermione a little smack on the butt and rescued his pillow from further abuse by the raging young Gryffindor.

But she was already laughing at her outburst herself. She sat up to face him and mussed up her hair in mock-despair.

"I hate Quittich, I really do. Have YOU ever played it?"

The Dark Lord made an exasperated face which explained to Hermione that he considered it to be beneath the dignity of such a powerful wizard as himself.

„No", he answered with a decisive shake of his head, but then his eyes wandered over to the tiny cellar window and his gaze seemed to take on an oddly longing expression. "But I did like to fly."

Suddenly, Hermione's mind was flooded with flashing images of Harry's last escape from the Dursley's the night he had come of age. The man who was now sitting so calmly next to her.. She saw him again as he had appeared that night – surrounded by his followers, shooting deadly curses at her and her dearest friends. It was all so surreal, like stories from someone else's life.

These memories made her shake her head rapidly, as if she thought she could banish them with the movement. She jumped off the bed and sank into a chair with a sigh, forgetting she wasn't wearing trousers and therefore relaxing her legs just a little more than was appropriate for someone in a skirt. "I really don´t like flying. Another reason why I hate Quittich so much. I never felt safe on a broom. I'm rather afraid of heights. I think I would die from fear if I ever had to fly without a broom." she mumbled quietly.

Embarrassed by that confession and realising her position on the chair probably made it possible for her patient to see her underwear, Hermione clapped her legs together, crossed her arms and lowered her eyes.

The pale man in front of her seemed to be suddenly spurred into action. He jumped from the bed in an uncharacteristically matter-of fact manner and walked over to the middle of the room, commanding briskly, "Come here, girl."

Uncertain as to what was going to happen, Hermione got up mechanically and followed his command with a feeling of foreboding. She stopped about two feet away from him, not bothering to hide her mistrust.

Voldemort stretched out his long, white arm, grasped the appalled Hermione on the back of her dress and drew her over to him, then pressed her back on his breast and clutched her with his arms as if he wanted to smother her.

"No… I…Please don't" Hermione pleaded terrified, trying to wriggle out of this stranglehold. What was this all about? He´d never given in to his urges so openly before. No matter how much she'd grown accustomed to him, now she was really frightened. Thrashing about in panic, Hermione tried to free herself, but to no avail, he was too strong.

"Keep still, it won't be painful." he commanded in a cold and dismissive voice which he hadn't used with her for quite some time now. Hermione obeyed and tried to control her growing fear. Where was her wand? Oh, right, she had it with her. It was stuffed under a strap of her bra.

The Dark Lord noticed the terrified glance she threw towards her weapon. "Take it. You´ll need it", he snarled in his usual imperious tone at the surprised and confused Hermione. His hands were still clasping her from behind, but she managed to free her arms and reach for her wand.

Uncertainly, she looked over her shoulder into the unreadable, pale face and the ruby red eyes which were now burning with an intensity she hadn't seen for quite some time.

„Look ahead and spread your arms", he thundered instead of offering an explanation, jerking his head impatiently forward.

Hermione yielded to her fate, deciding to trust her own resourcefulness and the weapon in her hand. With a sigh, she spread her arms slowly, feeling like an orange-red scarecrow.

Hermione noticed with uneasiness that he pulled her even closer, pressing her tight against his own body while his fingers started to wander upwards across her ribs. His hands paused just below her breasts. His thumbs were pressed to her back and the remaining fingers rested on her ribs. It didn't seem like the grasp was meant to prevent any serious physical resistance. Even so, she was very conscious of the tips of his forefingers pressing her breasts slightly upwards. It was frightening because she didn't have the slightest clue of what he wanted.

He paused for a moment in this position, and then she felt his fingers wander along her rib cage again, but his grasp was too strong to call this movement a caress. He seemed to be trying to get a firmer grip on her body.

It was so eerie. Her hot, sweating body felt every inch of the dark fabric of his clothes and his cold skin. It was rather nice to be pressed against his pleasantly cool chest. Hermione had a sudden, amusing thought about being hugged by a fridge. But this idea didn't help at all, because now she felt even hotter from nervousness. Her breathing accelerated and she felt that her skin was coated with a thin film of sweat which made her dress stick to her body.

The hair on her neck stood up and his breathing was louder in her ears as he pulled her so close that she felt the back of her head press against his collarbone. It reminded her of the time when he had caressed her head and neck, of the way his hand had burrowed into her hair with the softest whisper of a touch. The memory made a portion of her fear melt away to be replaced by a slowly spreading warmth of pleasure.

Hermione shifted her weight and leaned on her prisoner. „Tilt your head back" he instructed with a slight note of insecurity in his voice.

Hermione closed her eyes and her sensed sharpened. One could think that myriads of new nerve cells started to grow inside her precisely at this moment so that her skin became many times more sensitive to touch.

Although it could be hardly visible on the outside, Hermione was extremely lightheaded and suddenly almost faint as she felt the touch of his chin on her temple as his head turned towards her and suddenly his lips were pressed to her forehead. No, he was not kissing her, but she could still feel the barely perceptible touch of his thin, motionless lips.

Even though his breathing had been uneven just moments ago, now she felt his chest rise and fall more slowly. Every time he breathed in, his chest came a few millimetres closer, and moved away again as he exhaled. Every breath seemed to take an eternity. She heard him draw the air in through his nose.

He was smelling her.

Hermione felt unpleasantly naked. She was wet and sweaty and his unrestrained savouring of her scent made her feel exposed.

She opened her eyes and gazed shyly upwards, her temple gliding along his mouth. She saw that he had closed his eyes; the lids were not pressed together, but rested gently on one another.

His face wore an very unfamiliar, content expression; he seemed to have forgotten what he'd actually had in mind when he'called her to him.

His lips and chin slid across her skin in an almost caressing movement, wandering from her forehead to the tip of her ear, across her hairline to the back of her head, and then returning again to her temple. His mouth opened and closed slowly, as if he wanted to whisper something. He swallowed with apparent difficulty.

One of his hands released its grip on her, his thumb slipped forward so that the whole hand rested under her breast, and then slid with a slight pressure across her belly and paused an inch under her navel.

On the tip of her ear, she could feel a sharp intake of breath as the hand slid upwards again and pressed her closer to him.

Her rib cage heaved and she took a deep breath to help her take in everything that was happening. The scent of the room, the refreshingly cool skin which was pressed to her back, but which she could feel on her entire body and the sweet confusion that took possession of her mind..

She felt how he moistened his thin, suddenly dry lips with the warm, soft tip of his tongue. How his hands glided slowly over her belly and how his mouth was pressed more firmly to her forehead - this time, beyond any doubt, kissing her.

Slowly, very slowly, Hermione's head turned, still maintaining skin contact with his lips whose gentle touch on her forehead, her temples and her hair warmed her entire body and clutched at her very soul.

Her shoulders followed her head, and she turned around so that her entire unbelievably warm body clutched at the man before her as if she feared she would be blown away if there was even one millimetre of space between them.

Her arms sunk onto his upper arms, then slid downwards in a flowing movement. Her outstretched hands shifted forward with a gentle pressure and found their way to his lower back, sliding along his backbone over every single vertebra, up to his neck. A sensual touch that elicted a barely suppressed sigh.

Her hands clawed into his shoulders. She pulled herself upwards in one fluid movement, her lips slightly open as her warm, soft tongue wandered from his shoulder blades and over his neck to a spot beneath his earlobe.

Those large, white hands…how gentle they were, how unexpectedly wonderful it felt to be touched by them. Hands that cupped her face and stroked her cheeks; fingers that caressed her throat and then disappeared beneath her curls. Those strong hands that held her tight and wrapped her in a warm and soft blanket of security..

Those hands now slid gently over her neck and tilted her head upwards until her lips touched his. Those hands buried themselves in her curls and pulled her closer..

She hesitated a for a moment, but finally she allowed herself to open her mouth a little wider and to forget everything but the soft touch of the tongue that wandered along her lips. All her other senses blurred as his wet tongue tip met her own and slid over it, hot like fire, but somehow not burning her.

But that game was over before Hermione could reciprocate. Voldemort's head tilted away from her and he turned her rather abruptly around, pressed her back to his chest, and his hands again found the place on her ribs where he had grabbed her before.

Voldemort, fully composed again, pushed the now totally confused Hermione slightly away from him and pressed his hands around her ribs in an iron grip. He bent his elbows slightly, took a deep breath and then suddenly stretched his arms and lifted her high above his head in one fluid movement with a strength she wouldn't have expected even from him.

Her legs dangling in the air, Hemione feared that his strength could fail him any moment and he would let her fall. But he was holding held her so tight she felt as if she were standing on a solid, invisible platform. Warmth radiated from the fingertips underneath her breasts and spread through her in waves until her entire body seemed to glow. Tiny electric shocks erupted all over her skin and she almost believed she was giving off sparks when a cushion of colder air enclosed her body tightly and brought with it a feeling of unexpected stability.

She hung in the air, suspended by invisible ropes like an oversized marionette, hardly registering the touch of the hands that still supported her.

Even though just moments ago her arms had felt heavy and she longed to drop them, now they rose up even higher, by themselves. She was hardly aware of the man standing beneath her, hearing only the incantations whispered by a strangely familiar voice.

The hated, but unfortunately also well-known feeling of his magic invading her being overwhelmed her as he took over her mind and slowly made her body forget every impulse from the senses.

No pictures flashed through her mind this time; everything she had been thinking about gradually melted away and she seemed to be floating in white nothingness. Her weight disappeared until she felt hollow and light, like a large orange balloon.

The voice was back. It enveloped her entire body and kept on repeating incantations in the same, strangely familiar language. Those words no longer belonged to the voice, but came from the very core of her being, and it felt completely natural. She didn't even have to hear them clearly to be able to repeat them; it seemed as though they etched themselves into her brain never to be forgotten again, exactly because they originated from her own body.

The incantations echoed inside her, spoken in her own voice, even though she hadn't opened her mouth. And yet, she seemed to be speaking, or at least thinking them herself now. Maybe it was because she neither heard nor felt him anymore. Something that felt as soft as cotton but at the same time as untouchable as air, was holding her aloft. Her toes were pointed downwards, making her look like a floating. Something lifted her higher and higher, like a piece of paper over a fan. Her head tilted backwards and its weight made her body arch gracefully, arms still spread out like wings.

But suddenly she felt her body again… Not very gently, her forehead banged against something cold and hard.

Voldemort wouldn't couldn't have thrown a stone at her, could he?

Her toes sank a bit and she no longer felt the pressure on her forehead….her upper body slid back into place until it was in line with her legs again.

Slowly and carefully she opened her eyes. She squinted as if she'd just emerged from complete darkness into bright sunlight. Her eyes encountered something warm and radiant, like sunshine.

But somehow it seemed to be rather yellow than white like the sun. And after a closer look she noticed that it was only the warm yellow hue of the wall in Voldemort's sickroom.

Where was her patient? She couldn't feel his touch anymore, neither on her back nor on her chest. Still standing on her toes, she tried to turn around. Then she tried to lower her spread arms, but threw them immediately upwards again as she felt on the verge of losing her balance.

But why? And what was..

That was when she noticed that the sunny yellow colour wasn't just all around her but also above her. And that the cold, hard thing her head had banged against was the ceiling.

A quick downward gaze confirmed her suspicions. She was floating four feet above the floor like a strange, orange caricature of an angel.

Horrified, Hermione started to wave her arms, toppled over and started spinning as if she'd just jumped into a deep pool and was trying to figure out how to get to the surface. This weightless suspension and uncertainty felt a lot like swimming. She tucked up her legs to stop "standing" on her toes and suddenly lost her balance. She dived forward and her body made a wild summersault in the air.

She screamed with fear, waved her arms and tried to grasp at something solid in the nothingness that surrounded her. It was hopeless, she couldn't hold on to air.

Suddenly she stopped spinning, but was now hanging upside down in the air, looking like someone put under the Levicorpus spell. She screamed woth fright and embarrassment as her dress slipped over her head and revealed her underpants and belly.

"Help me! Will you finally do something?! I'm falling!" Hermione screamed at the top of her lungs. Hermione noticed that the ground underneath seemed to float dangerously close. Her arms preformed a propeller-like movement because she wasn't sure what to do first - protect her face with her arms or pull her dress back in place to cover her bum.

Back on the ground, her prisoner lounged against the wall with his arms wrapped casually over his knees and an amused flicker in his eyes, observing her frantic attempts at staying afloat

Now she could even see the cat, who was jumping up with its claws outstretched, trying to catch her dangling hair.

"Take him away, he will pull me down!" The increasingly panicked Hermione begged as the cat clawed into her hair and tried to climb up on her curls.

„Spread your arms, it's no different than swimming." Voldemort advised her, barely suppressing a laugh. Helplessly whining, Hermione kept on spinning in the air while her knees scratched painfully against the ceiling.

Voldemort struggled to his feet with a theatrically exasperated sigh and grasped her head with one hand while untangling the tom cat from her hair with the other and dropping it to the eyes were now level with his, with the exception that she was suspended upside down in the air on some invisible rope with her legs dangling hopelessly while he was standing firmly on the ground, not even trying to conceal his amusement.

„I told you, it's like swimming", her flying teacher lectured her impatiently. Hermione wasn´t able to follow the instruction for fear that she would crash to the floor any second.

„Ssssssssshhhhhhhhhhh" he stroked her cheeks soothingly, as if she were a child. "You´re not going to fall. You must not be afraid." His hands on her temples suddenly hurtled her into a horizontal line, so that she was now suspended in an almost-proper swimming position. Hermione spread her arms in an effort to gain some stability. Below, her teacher took a few steps along her body and - she was really thankful for this - pulled her dress back to cover her bum. Then he moved to support her belly for a short moment till her body finally foundthe perfect balance in the air.

With a contended nod he sat on the bed again and kept on watching the floating Gryffindor. "Now think of your wand and what I've told you about the way it works. You have to truly WANT it to do your bidding, you have to make it understand what it should do for you."

And it actually worked - when she concentrated really hard on what she did, she was able to float through the air as through water. If she spread her arms into a straight line, she stopped, but she could change her position with every movement. And even though there was nothing, absolutely nothing underneath her, she felt a slight pressure under her chest and stomach as if there was something she could rely on to protect her from falling down.

„It's an air cushion, similar to solidified air. You won't fall, it will support you." The man still lounging on the bed enlightened her with a smirk.

Hermione felt it again as she turned onto her back…soft and comfortable, as if a cover was spread under her.. She felt the pressure from underneath. Enough to stop her from falling but at the same time so flexible that she could move into whatever direction she wanted.

It was overwhelming, unbelievable,… mind-blowing. Hermione giggled, softly at first, but then louder and louder until a wild fit of laughter overcame her and she began to spin freely in the air again, which made her laugh even louder and more light-heartedly. She floated over the floor like a feather. No…it was even easier…even more wonderful, it was a feeling of limitless freedom and…there was no fear.

„If you want to come down, you just have to lower your arms and think of it. I've told you often enough, thoughts are more important than words…and you must not be afraid."

The self-appointed flying teacher stood in front of the tiny cellar window and observed how his student vanquished gravitation.

It was actually rather simple and felt as if she was being gradually let down on a rope. Hermione lowered herself to the floor slowly and felt completely safe. It was a clumsy process to pull her legs underneath her torso and back into a standing position, but the laws of gravity eventually won out as her toes connected with the floor and her weight was redistributed to its 'normal' configuration. Hermione struggled with the returning gravity and suddenly toppled like a wet sack at her teacher's feet.

He stood over her with crossed arms, doing nothing to help her up, but apparently bent on providing her with more explanation.

"I know you don't like it when I intrude upon your mind. But this time it was necessary. If I had told you what to do beforehand, you wouldn't have stayed in the air for one second because of the fear."

Arms crossed behind his back, he stepped over Hermione's crumpled form, paced through the room, and stopped beside the entrance to the room. The hated and coveted barrier that seprated him from his freedom. Then he turned and faced his student, lifting herself slowly from the floor. "You're safe as long you don't let the fear control you. Your thoughts decide whether you want to fly slower or faster. But you will never fall down."

Without deigning to look at her, he walked over to the cellar window and stared out. In an instant, he seemed to forget all about the young woman behind him and became caught up in a reverie filled with long-gone memories of flying and all the other things he would never be able to experience again.

Suddenly, Hermione felt a sudden urge to come up to this pale, lonesome figure and hug him. To stroke his white cheek and kiss him good-bye. Tender thoughts had stolen into her heartquite against her will. Tom Riddle had become a friend..no, so much more than a friend to Hermione Granger. And now, he didn´t even seem to notice her…

Hermione knew this glance. More and more often, sometimes in the middle of a conversation, he would sink into a dull, brooding silence. Maybe it was better to leave him alone with his memories. Her allotted time was over for today and the tomcat strode boldly through the room, seeking something he could misuse as a toilette. Her teacher seemed to have forgotten her presence altogether.

She still felt the slight tingle the of electric shocks that had erupted all over her skin as he made her float in the air.

Perhaps, she thought to herself, someday I will find the courage to do it. What will Ron and Harry say if I jump from the Astronomy Tower and they try to catch me on their silly brooms only to discover that it was completely unnecessary?

Oh yes, that was exactly the way she would do it, she decided proudly. And when they asked her where she had learned to fly.. Would they ever believe her if she told them that it was part of her correspondence charms of course?

No, of course they wouldn't. Because all her friends would very soon know for whom she had been caring at St Mungo's.. With whom she had willingly spent most of her free time.

As Hermione left the cheerfully painted cell, a single tear glistened in the corner of her eye.

Hours would pass, then minutes and then seconds. Whether it was more of each or less, it was certain that soon, very soon, he would die.

The trial was around the corner. Helplessly, Hermione observed as the end of her patient's life drew irrevocably closer and as the awareness of imminent death made his behaviour more and more disturbing.


	19. September

**Formerly; ViperVegeta:** Thanx… i think this pairing is really sick in some way. But it fitted perfectly to express what I wanted to say, or.. well, my message. Because Voldemort is so evil and Hermione is so… good. I think even more kind-hearted as Dumbledore.

**Brainstorm1001:** Thanx… i kind of liked the kiss too.

** All:** Sorry, I'm such a impatiently person. I´ll update the beta version as soon as possible.

* * *

**Explaining:**

_Dissociation__: It describes a state of mind where the "I" faces existence- threatening (in this case, existence-destroying) dangers. The person splits itself off from reality. The psyche tries to protect the persons from impression he/she wouldn't be able to bear. The person opt out from the world around, appears numb, __apathetic__, is not __responsive__ . A disconnection from the self. _

_The at the beginning remarked Stupor is a possible way to dissociate, but not the only one. There are milder and harder kinds (for example, __catatonic numbness). A way to safe the "I" from the psychological (and corporal) death. If the psyche is not able to safe the persons mind, the persons freak out and lose it._

_That's__ not really the same like __repression__. But that's not so important now. Important is:  
It's a sign of serious __psychological__stress__. Such states could be watched during rapes, they come and go by abuse-victims or at concentration camps. The pretend threat to the own existence is more as the psyche can stand at this moment. So the persons… splits off. _

**Chapter 19: September… or the fear of death**

Till the end of August Hermione felt, that she and her patient got an pretty well with each other. His reaction on her suggestions, doings and talk-topics were halfway assessable.

His manner was cold and he controlled himself, but he always agreed to discuss with her about magical questions, charms or to explain books to her. But they also talked pretty much about everything, besides that and so. So Hermione thought that they somehow reached a point where they accepted each other, at least.

It wouldn't really be right to call their relationship a friendship, but yet Hermione thought it was more reasonable to do so.

Her enemy, patient, prisoner, child, master, friend… so many ways to look at him. Of course there was still another way to see him left, but this last opportunity was so risky and felt so dangerous, that Hermione kept on forbidding herself to think about this last, possible kind of thinking about him.

However, the whole situation for Hermione and her… - whatever- changed totally in late summer.

Probably it started before, but it was the first time Hermione really recognized the changing in his behaviour. It was a Saturday and although Hermione had surely told her patient five times or more that she had to leave him earlier that day because she and Ron had arranged something for the afternoon, he insisted to teach her a particularly difficult transfiguration charm. He alleged empathically, that those things were certainly asked in the N.E.W.T.s.

Hermione was tiered and sweated and all she wanted was to go home and to take a shower. Ron already waited for her in the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione was dutiful and hungry for knowledge, but that Saturday she'd preferred to go with Ron to the park. But her patient managed to hold her a whole hour more as usual back with his explanations.

The Clash with Ron was inevitable.

The following Monday was the first day, Voldemort didn't want to read the newspaper. He also refused to read it on Tuesday and Wednesday and explained Hermione on Thursday, that she shouldn't to bye it anymore. Nonsense, because she´d subscribed to the daily prophet anyway.

After he told her that, he didn't want to hear or know anything about Hermione's books anymore. Although he'd talked in the past with her about school questions rather voluntary, those topics were now a downright reason for explosively fits of rage. They both knew, that Hermione actually should have been back to Hogwarts again. But after a very long, personal Mail to Professor McGonagall she got the allowness to do the first weeks in a home-study.

Hermione's whole school-life became more and more a No-go Topic. Every time he heard just the slightest word about books or school, he started to shout at her with an animal-like ghastly face and accused her, that she seemingly couldn't even await his death. Because Hermione was able to go back to school when he died. They both knew that, no need to sugar-coat this.

Her friends were even under normal circumstances a critical topic, but now every remark on Harry, Ginny or, socially Ron, was immediately shouted down. The one minute calm, the next he exploded like a volcano if only one of these hated names fell casually.

Ron came always up with new allegations because she hadn't resigned yet and he had to sit alone in Hogwarts.

It took Hermione a few days till she got it. The fear of death crept inside him. No one had told him yet, when his trial would start, even though yon was certainly thoroughly prepared for since months.

He knew, that the trial ought to take just a few days and that he should be executed very short after it ended. He didn't know, if he would be allowed to come back to his hospital-trial after the judgment or if they would lead him right after the last trial day to Death Chamber. Nobody told him anything.

And also he asked Hermione for a hundred times a day, Hermione wasn't able to reply anything but the trial should start somehow in the end of September or early October. Of course she'd tried more than once to interrogate the Aurors, but hopeless, they were prohibited to comment the proceeding.

Voldemort became more restless with every further day. He straggled like a tiger hour for hour around Hermione. Unable to stand only three minutes on the same place. Sometimes Hermione almost believed that she discovered deepening's on the floor because he used to walk endlessly on the same way through the room

The room wasn't particularly small, but more and more it appeared to both of them so tight, as if they were captured together in a matchbox. The walls, Tom Riddle wailed with madness in the eyes and panic in the voice, would crush him and he wouldn't be able to breath because of the tightness.

Always the same four walls and an increasingly more galled getting Voldemort who kept on complaining about shortness of breath, let the frightening feeling of claustrophobia raise inside Hermione. How disburdening it was, when she was allowed to leave this torture chamber after her daily end of work.

Rons jealousy knew no limit as he realised how worried Hermione was about her fosterling. But of course he did not know how sure it was, that Hermione would leave the hospital in early October.

Nevertheless, his jealousy hadn't had so less reason for a long time as now. In the last weeks erotically touches and little kisses happened on and off, which passed the limit of innocence a little. But that was over know. Hermione could have lain herself on his stomach and wouldn't had caused such bodily reaction which had occurred if she'd just touched his neck with her finger tips for a massage.

But every time Hermione now put her arms around him, it was completely innocent. Her fosterling searched nothing but comfort in her arms because every other thought than the overpowering fear of death was banned from his mind.

Hermione's perturbed patient didn't want to let her go again. Every day he seemed to seek for new excused to make her stay longer with him, to keep her on his side, always in panic that they would take him away, then he was alone.

It got worse every day, because every day it got more probable, that he would one would come for him. When finally no new excuse why Hermione's shouldn't go home occurred to his mind, he sank dull brooding on his chair and stared motionless to the hated door.

When the tomcat was there, he sat on this chair for hours, stared sombrely into the emptiness and caressed the cat on his lap. But once, the tomcat was jumped from him because he tried to catch a fly. 15 minutes later he the completely apathetically appearing man still caressed his knee. Hadn't realised, that the cat wasn't there anymore.

After Hermione „woke him up" he forced her to promise him that she would take care for the tomcat from October on… He didn't make it to speak his own death out, but Hermione understood and agreed immediately.

But Ron, her other life, didn't express much enthusiasm on these adoption-outlooks. He didn't like Crookshanks and the outlook on a further tomcat which Hermione wanted to bring with her to Hogwarts made him feel unpleasant. And why? The cat of this prisoner didn't regard Hermione, Ron reproached her. Why should she take that creature away? The prisoner should keep it on.

But the red-haired man didn't know that the "owner" of the cat wouldn't survive October.

It took months till Hermione managed to get away from her "child" point of view. Till she accomplished seeing her prisoner not as her child. But right as she was able to perceive him as a adult man, that way to look at him was already wrong again.

The whole last months Voldemort managed it, no matter how badly off he was, to keep a certain level of dignity and might. But that was over.

When Hermione's unhappy child didn't stare at the door apathetically, he spent their common time with shouting permanent-annoyed through the room and, because he lost every day more self-control, he let one object after another which was there exploding or go up in flames. Only the walls seemed to be collapse-safe.

But not the toilette. It exploded after Hermione had forgotten to bring him new clothes that day, so he had to wear the same as yesterday.

The poor Hermione was completely fulfilled with fixing all the explosion-damages. Besides from exploding toilettes, he made the mineral water cook in its bottle, let the pumpkin juice bottles explode, melted the iron stand of the bathtub and the hands of the clock at the wall rotated like a ventilator. He lost any control pf his powers.

Instead of took turn in breaking his both wrist to twenty-five times and his feet and sundry toes to sixteen-times, because he'd boxed against the wall with rage.

Hermione mastered the Skele-Gro and Bone-heal-charms perfectly from then on. Oh right, and he keeled over fainting to ten times because he hyperventilated during his choleric fits.

Totally helpless how to behave toward the irritable Lord she seemed to do everything wrong. She truly tried to take care for him, as thanks he yelled at her and threw heavy objects at her, resisted vehement being pampered like an infant. He seemed that it took all his lost self-control to hold himself off from battering her. But a few black eyes passed on the way.

When Hermione then, completely frightened and in tears, wanted to escape, he immediately run after her, wailing thousands of apologises and blocked the door. He begged and pleaded, she shouldn´t be mad at him, he would be sorry for everything would under no circumstanced want to be left alone, because he would need her. So Hermione started again to shepherded him, which evocated the protest of the adult one again.

One might have felt sorry for him, if he hadn't been so threatening, virtually life-endangering.

From time to time Hermione really caught herself by thinking "die faster". Every day it became more tormenting. But the man was broken anyway.

Hermione was so angry with Tom Riddle. She didn't want to have him that way. He should be mightful, powerful so she could adore his skills, so she could think of him with a smile on her lips, when she fell asleep. And If that wasn't possible, then he should be at least and intimidating. That was the way she wanted to have him, she knew him like that. But he should sit huddled on the floor, moaning like a mantra, that he wouldn't want to die.

Sometimes Hermione insulted him screaming and jostled him, because it was so hard to bear, seeing him that miserably and because Hermione felt too, as if she would go crazy it was easier to be angry with him than admitting, that she would really loose him.

But the most time she managed to bottle all her fears up inside. Perhaps she'd got even better, if she hadn't had to go with headache into her bed, every night.

Ron made with every of his visits and in every owl post clear to her, that he was jealous and he accused Hermione having a love affair with her patient, who needed increasingly more encouragement day after day.

But Ron, he didn't know what it was like to hold an adult man, the enemy, like an infant in the arms for hours and to stroke his head, because he broke down after a panic attack and wasn't able to get up again with fear. Just to get bucket thrown at her head, he had to vomit, as she told him, she had to go in her weekend now.

The stress robbed Hermione all the strength she'd needed for her daily life. More and more she got hysterically herself.

Once in a supermarket, she broke out in tears, because her favourite jam-sort was sold out. A shop assistant, who asked her worried if he could help her, got full tilt kick at his shinbone.

One time, she beat Ron's nose bloody, as he blamed her for her irritated mood in the last time. He nearly dropped her, but got becalmed by Hermione's honestly cried apologises.

Sometime he remembered Helens morphia attack, wherefore he refused to take anything Hermione got from the hospital from that day on. He didn't even want to drink mineral water, if it wasn't bought from a shop outside ´s. Then he imagined that Hermione might wanted to poison him, to get faster to her friends again. From that day on, she had to initial cost all the things she brought along.

A few days later, he didn't want to eat anything at all. Hours-long, the unutterably overchallanged Hermione talked with tongues of angels at the anyway thin man, for eating al least a few bits or choking a bit water.

Pity! She came up with such good new ideas. Playing-Dating for example. Hermione drew them two chairs and a lovely, little, white round chair, which was decorated with a specially therefore bought apricot-coloured table-cloth and two admittedly less noble hospital-plates. She even thought of burning candles, which were attentively draped between the with Chinese food loaded plates.

Hermione was so proud of herself. All looked so lovely, smelled delicious of roasted duck, which her patient really liked. Only she shouldn't have told him, that the Chinese-restaurant in which she bought the duck was recommended to her by Harry. Dumb, of course, why she had to let slip that out of her mouth? Harry, so accused her the yelling Voldemort, whished more than any other person on the planned, that to see him dead as fast as possible, whereupon he grabbed the plates together with the duck and smashed it at the wall.

Hermione herself lost five kilos in September.

Sometimes, when he didn't want to ingest anything at all, because he sensed danger all around him, the cruel voices which lived in Hermione's mind got louder. They asked Hermione spiteful, if it wouldn't be equal if he ate something or not, because he would die anyway. He wouldn't life along enough, to die of starvation.

But such scare-ideas were blocked over and over. Hermione struggled months-long, with cockering her patient up. She wouldn't abandon the field now flightless, in order to let him die.

Even though she knew, that no other choice would be up to her, but Hermione didn't want to think of that. As long as she brought him to eat or to drink something, were was still hope left. Yet, hope of what, she couldn't tell…

The voices in her head never were silent, advised her of the suffering of the victims, over and over again. Accused her of committing betrayal, if she shepherded their murderer. Asked her, if it wouldn't make more sense if she spent her time and her energy in taking care for the ones, who deserved it. If the effort wouldn't be more worth, because that ones would survive.

Ron suggested, to go away for a few days, over Christmas. However, hadn't Hermione earned money over the last months? But as good as nothing remained from her salary, because she'd already spent the biggest part of it for the car of her fosterling.

Ron honoured this engagement with a fit jealousy fit of rage. If she was mad, to fling away her money.

Certainly it was madness. Madness or stupidity. Nothing else could be responsible for promising her prisoner, that she never wanted leave him alone. Promised him to stay with him at the trial and that nothing, under no circumstances, could hold her back, from going to him and visiting him a last time, after the trial was over.

Promised him to stay with him, to the bitter end.

After her work, Hogwarts best Student did mostly nothing else but perusing judgements. Possible ways of Revision. Plea-strategies, moderated judgements. But deep in her mind it was clear to her, that this was somehow a waste of time. The death sentence was probably already typed, signed, dated and certified.

They WANTED to kill him. That was the only reason why he was brought to the hospital at all, why they didn't let him die without much ado after the battle. They wanted to kill him in public. A medieval execution was nothing compared to that. Only the death-chamber didn't fit. Because they wanted to remove his body at the same time. They wanted to eliminate everything about him.

Otherwise they'd surely put his body into a cage, visible to everybody, to let him rot and hung him on the highest point in the ministry, where his dead body would be gnawed by hungry birds.

Well, Hermione thought bitterly, maybe they'd finally change their mind and would rather choose a guillotine instead of the death-chamber. In the centre of a marketplace at high noon. But actually that idea was much to sad to play, even polemically, with it.

Nevertheless it was a comfort to deal with legal bases. At least she could show believable proofs to her paranoid patient, that she hadn't begged Kinglsey Shackelbolt to hurry up with his death penalty.

All this bitterness would be easier to bear if this all would deal with a innocent one. If she hadn't had to admit secretly, that he'd deserved this penalty. No matter how she thought about this way punishment, she felt sympathy for all those who hated him.

But what avail was this knowledge to a bleeding hard, that was on the verge of breaking, every time her eyes were caught by the calendar? The last days… the time was almost over.

Ron sent her every day more irritated owl-mails in which he complained about Hermione's refusal to help (in other words, to write for him) him with his homework. That job would totally distract her from the real important matters.

Gryffindors most gifted witch for years had to promise to her nemesis, to come to him at exactly 10:00h every day. It was all too obvious how scared he was, every time he thought what the door would be opened. As he winced with every unexpected voice at all. More and more the whole man turned into a chivvied, scared animal.

If you have to wait for the worst, what could happen every minute, you'll certainly broke down earlier or later.

But Hermione understood it. Every time she went home in the afternoon, she did not know if he would still be there on the next day.

In the evenings Hermione stopped reading books. Instead she listened to the radio, went into Muggle-cinemas, went into Clubs, bars or into parks. Even though she was alone and didn't feel like drinking or talking with anyone. She just wanted to prevent herself from considering about anything. Wasn't it enough that she had to consider about such questions if, for example, it would make sense to bring new clothes the next day, then she lay sleepless in her bed?

The books she used to read in the afternoons didn't not afford any kind of relief to her. Hardly surprising, because her books didn't deal with magic but with condemned to death people. Books, written from authors, sitting in the death row. Books from the daily life on the verge of being killed. Read about the behaviour of the death-row inmates. They turned mad with fear in massed. The fear of death made them paranoid. Everywhere those prisoners sensed enemies and assassinations against themselves, heard voiced and dissociated.

She read about persons which were captured in death row, who went through comparable crises at the end of their life's. How they went insane, banged their heads against the wall or the floor, bit their own arms bloody, refused to eat anything, smeared excrements at the walls or fell into a stupor.

No matter how evil and terrible they've once been, now they just cried for their mothers, fathers, wife's, husbands and children to help them.

However, Hermione consoled herself, their situation wasn't quiet as bad. Although Hermione tried to calm herself with every possible lie she was able to come up with, she went increasingly more tensed with every further day.

She had barley time to see her parents. They honestly tried hard to have sympathy for Hermione's profession dedication, but they weren't able to understand why it should be impossible to her, taking a few days of to visit them. The many overtime Hermione did in the last weeks…

No that he needed them, Helen refused to give him even the mildest calmatives. No, he would get nothing from her, Helen hissed to Hermione angrily. If Hermione earnestly believed, that she were in a hotel and the nurses had nothing better to do than dealing with Mr Guest?

Helen was unutterably disappointed by Hermione trying to help her prisoner. No she became a Traitor in Helens and Claris eyes, because she dared to express her worries in her daily reports.

He being a ticking time bomb, seemed to make the two lady's downright happy.

If the dark lord should kill his caregiver in a fit of madness, that would be just the punishment for Hermione's betrayal… in Helens mind. A betrayal Hermione committed, by liking the evil thing.

So nothing else remained to Hermione, than continue watching her child going insane.

Yet, she managed to attend the Match Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. It was Saturday and she'd left him earlier.

Still she wasn't allowed to go to him on Sundays. The hospital-rules hadn't still hadn't changed, yet. For whatever reason … Tom Riddle had to stay alone on Sundays. No matter if she found dried blood spots at the wall, a he, being totally deranged, on Mondays…

But she had to wash him anyway, because he didn't managed to think of anything else than his own dead.

But maybe it wouldn't get so bad this weekend, maybe they would come for him this afternoon and take him to the ministry. Or perhaps on Sunday afternoon? Maybe he was right and they waited till she wasn't with him, to take him away. Maybe the trial would start on Monday, who could know it?

Hermione agonized over such and similar thoughts while her friends gained a glorious victory over Draco Malfoys frowning Slytherins.

Ron and Harry got rather huffed as they recognized, that Hermione was almost clueless what they were talking about, as they boasted about their tricky moves.

Instead if talking about Quidditch, Hermione irritated Harry asking the probably thousand's time, when he had to testify against those death-eaters. But Harry refused vehemently to betrayal anything. He'd got the order to tell nothing about anything. But so much was clear at least, that they'd obviously told him when, but not against who, he should testify. But anyhow, Harry seemed to enjoy keeping his secret. His revenge for Hermione's refusal to divulge the identity of her patient. Harry wasn't that authority-abiding , that he would really get intimidated by the ministry. But that was his way to pay her secretiveness back to her. She said nothing against about who, fine, so he hadn't to tell her when…

Couldn't she just tell him the truth? He, any anyone else in the magical world, would come to know the truth in a few days or weeks anything. From that point, it really made no difference if she kept her silence or not. But then he'd probably yelled at her…. Hermione used to experience hysterically fits of rage at every day on her work, was it really to much, trying to keep herself out of such things in her free-time?

The one, the trial would be conducted against, drove Hermione slowly but surely crazy, by asking her ten or more times a day if she would really come to him the next day. So agitated he was on Saturday-afternoons, so apathetically he appeared on Monday-mornings. The time he was all alone let him freeze with fear like a dead.

He almost never found sleep at night. Overtired during the day, much too panicked at night to fall asleep, he looked more than aver like a ghost. Once he tried. Once Hermione tried to ask Head nurse Claris for sleeping pills, and got, no surprise, turned down. The patient should be glad to stay awake as long as possible, Claris taunted, wouldn't he have enough time to sleep, soon?

When Ron was with her during the week-ends, when she was alone with him or they stayed with their friends, Hermione had to go through hours of silly death-eater jokes. They laughed out loudly as they spoke about Hermione's aromatherapy, teased her smirking, if the time weren't come to give her therapy attempts in.

Hermione broke down in tears…just to her Ron saying, her having changed in a very bad way over the last months. It was her nineteenth birthday.

Some when came the day, Tom, Hermione wasn't able to call him Voldemort in her mind anymore, finally broke down.

He run like a rousted chicken for about three hours at a stretch through the room and kept on claiming asserting, that the room would take him the air to breath away. Afterwards he exploded the cast iron tub, the toilette and the sink. After doing this, he imagined that Hermione was conjuring the walls closer and closer to squash him between them. So Hermione had to pace, counting her steps, across the room to show him, that not a single inch was missing and the room was as large as ever… just to hear him accusing her of plotting together with Lucius Malfoy against him, because they wanted to save Lucius from testifying at the court.

This time he was absolutely convinced, that Hermione was trying to kill him that it wasn't possible to stop him from going crazy.

Loudly yelling his white fists banged against the wall till they bled. He looked like a rabid animal as he came with wild flaming eyes closer to her, ready to stop her from anything he supposed she was doing to him.

Fortunately the tomcat wasn't with them today. Because sometimes, when he was in a really badly off, he believed that the tomcat was an animagus the ministry had sent to him to observe him.

The shouting turned into a panicked hyperventilating. A short time after, the tall man was dripping with cold sweat and collapsed weeping. Hermione was deeply aghast to see him that way. Yelling, raging, insulting…that all was familiar to her. But that…

Hermione went to him, to calm him, wanted to tell him that there was no need to be afraid of her, but just as she kneeled down to him to hug him, he jumped up, pressed her on the floor, through himself on her and suffocated her. Mad with fear she raised her wand to call for the Aurors to help her for the first time. With the strength of a madman, her pale, weak patient managed to hold her down and…wrest the wand from her.

However he achieved to take the banns away which lay on the wand, it was no use for him because in the very moment the Aurors rushed into the room, the wand gave a strong electric shock and Tom collapsed unconscious.

The four aurors heaved the thin man all together back on his bed, lamed him and helped the shivering Hermione to get up. They didn't reproach her because they seemed to think, that he'd managed to take the banns off him all by himself.

But that was finally too much to the poor Hermione. After she had to keep the silence for such a long time, she wasn't able to hold herself back anymore and confessed in tears all the things, she went through during the last month with her patient and how despaired she was herself this month.

One of them, the oldest, a tall, black man in his forty's appeared deeply concerned as he heard about the catastrophically conditions as Hermione started to work on the hospital.

He listened to her patiently, accused her of nothing as she admitted, that she'd taken the banns of him herself during the whole last months, that things went well for them in spite of this and how hard she fought for his life in the first time, to keep him alive… that she really achieved to change to situation between/for them…

Till now, since he lost his mind more and more with fear.

Ben, the black auror, nodded sympathetically sighed from time to time, narrowed his eyes and put a considering face on… till he got up again and walked upstairs to talk with the head-nurse and some other members of the hospital-staff.

Then he came done, he said that they wouldn't have to lay the banns back on him again, that Tom Riddle was allowed to get three, guaranteed unpoisoned meals a day, and that Hermione wouldn't be punished by disciplinary measures.

Moreover Ben finally brought a calmative for Riddle. Ben told to the nurses, that further nervous breakdowns would endanger the personnel's safeness.

Hermione assumed, Claris and Helen being pretty disappointed cause of that. They'd probably hoped that the hated, crazed patient would punish, or even kill his traitorously caregiver, so Hermione would get her just punishment for her betrayal. But of course they didn't admit this hope to the aurors, so they had to agree grudgingly, that a nervous wreck wouldn't be useful to the trial against him.

Tom Riddle himself felt obviously unpleasant, even embarrassed, about his breakdown. He barley dared to look at Hermione as he woke up. But, at least, let her give him the calmative without resistance. Sure he understood, how much he needed it.

As Hermione told him, that she still wanted to go to him each day, Claris even conceded to her(after Ben urged her to allow this) visiting him on Sundays and that the Aurors had agreed, that could Hermione stay with him in the hospital for the whole time, after the trial, till his execution, he flung his arms around her, wailing but grateful, like a little child.

Hermione was very kind to Hermione. He helped Hermione to enforce more humane conditions of detention against Claris and Helen. But he also decided that the aurors now didn't have to stay IN FRONT, but INSIDE his sickroom with him, for the most time. That was good in some way, because it tool the heavy burden from Hermione's shoulder, to carry the responsibility for him all alone. Everything was better than the former solitary confinement. It also gave Hermione the chance to leave him in the afternoons without the fear of might noticing new bloody spots at the wall and broken bones at him, on the following day.

Furthermore Ben arranged meetings with a psychological healer.

For Hermione!

Who accepted that unutterably grateful, because the psychological healer was bound to solitary confinement, so she finally had the possibility to speak about all those terrible things which made the last month so gruesome to her.

She even dared to tell him, how much she feared October herself, because her unhappy friend would die then.

The aurors were quiet sympathetic. Death sentences weren't usual, only a criminal like Voldemort had to get this finalest kind of punishment. Nobody knew how to deal with it. But facing the breakdown, the guards might have decided that a slight form of dignity and some help to the poor Hermione wouldn't be worse than a raging dark Lord at the trial.

Maybe it was of this reason, as they finally betrayed some details on the trial. One told the two unknowing people, that the trial would start at the first of October, should take seven, following days and that the judgement was about to be declared at the seventh of October. His execution would take place only one day later, so his dying day was October the eight.

Since the trial would be held in overlength, he would have to stay in the ministry during this week. After the judgement he they would bring him back to the hospital for a last night where he had to stay until the carrying out of the death sentence, at the next day.

Maybe it was because of the first clear words or maybe just the effect of the calmatives he got from then on three times a day, or even the realising that there was no way out for him and only a few days left, but the from then on the prisoner calmed down and managed halfway to spread his usual aura of superiority.

He ate, washed himself and spoke again. Not much, indeed but at least he listened to Hermione than she told him about her friends. He even listened as she told him about the Longbottoms upstairs in the looked spell-damage wing, told him how funny the Weasley-Twins have been, how sad she was about the death of Lupin and Tons, whose son now had to grow up as another orphan and how much SHE feared HIM in the last year, as they wanted to kill each other. Without commenting anything of course, but till then he intimidated to her, that he couldn't care less about his victims.

She also brought the tomcat along again. The worry, that he might could kill him in a fit of paranoia was gone.

On the eve of the commencement of litigation he even started to tell about the death-eaters, his died army. About their meetings, how it was like to be adored by them and little everyday history of his followers, who were dead now or probably lucky believing, being rid off him. He also told her about the exile in Albania where he, according to the circumstances, coped quiet well with his situation, but he admitted, that he'd often felt discouraged, humiliated and lonely during this years.

Certainly she was the first person who he ever told about his time in the orphanage, his outstanding grade at the Muggle-school, his fear of being insane because he was so different as the other children, who all were afraid of him and avoided him.

Conversely, Hermione told him about Dumbledores quirks, about the dreadful Professor Umbridge, told about Hagrdis weakness for "interesting creatures", whereto he could account a lot from his own memory. She told him about Wormtail who'd been the Weasleys pet for years and that he'd almost were eaten by her tomcat Crookshanks, one time. Giggling she told him about the day as the Snape-Boggart paced on the clothing of Nevielles grandmother through the staff room.

About these last two stories, he could even laugh.

Yet, she told absolutely nothing about Ron.

Tomorrow was the beginning of the trial and Hermione would have given anything to rescue her prisoner life.

Remarks to the chapter:

I know Voldemorts behaivor is rather „unvoldiish", but it's quiet similar to the behaviour of other people under comparable circumstances (death row, unwanted death is imminent ect.)

* Don't want being alone, clings on the only persons which he has, all

* uncontrolled fits of rage (added to anger on the own weakness)

* The feel of tightness, the fear of suffocating…

* The paranoia of being destroyed

* Constant panic of dying

* Dissociation, because the situation was unbearable

Some persons react with a special interested of the nether world. But since our got a foretaste Voldy of that was waiting for him at "kings cross", it's rather improbable that he would really try to take comfort in ideas of a "better world/better life".

His biggest fear, the death. He knows that's waiting for him but no one told him anything about, that's something, you might recognized it yourself, that will greaten all fears in every way. Every hour, every second…

So… be merciful and allow him to loose it.


	20. Start of the trial

_Sorry, no new chapter. I´ve just changed something_

**All: **_Merry Christmas to everyone: Another chapter of Hermione's way trough the ethnical nirvana. You'll certainly know my lousy English. Well a very nice person had betaed some chapters, though it seemed as if she is very busy with other things right now. Well, so if anyone else would scarifie him/herself to help me as a** second beta**, I'd love him/her for the rest of my life. So please… beta me_

**All:** _Just something I wanted to mention. Most german readers felt sorry for Hermione, the readers of the English-version feel sorry for Voldemort. That's interesting to me…_

** Lap:** I think only movie or book heros would really stay cool under such circumstances. And it's the most terrible situation Voldemort is able to think of.

** Bella:** No, his wand is not at Malfoy Manor. He broke it (as far as I know) as he stole the elder-wand from the dead Dumbledore. And Harry took the elder-wand after he defeated him. Or Voldemort defeated himself.I don't think the ministry would do anything to help Voldemort to bear his "end". They're not very human in this world I think.

**13:** No, it´s not a real Ron bashing. I feel sympathy for him. It's...well...it's difficult to him either. He behaves so silly because he knows that there's something Hermione doesn't tell him. It makes him distrustfully but he doesn't dares asking her what's going on because this could mean that she gives him answers on questions he likes to push to the back of his mind.

* * *

**Chapter 20: Start of the trial**

On the morning of the trial of the start, Lord Voldemort would presumably have only a few days more to live, Hermione didn't go to the hospital. One had told her on the eve, that the Aurors would come for him to bring him to the ministry in the early hours of the morning. She wouldn't be allowed to be with her dear enemy till the trial was over and he would be going to spend his last hours in the his hospital-cell again. There he would be waiting, till he would go forever.

Hermione invented her parents under the pretext of showing her unbelievable, marvelous room in the Leaky Cauldron to them. The psychological healer suggested her to get herself some help and support during the trial. Long time enough she had to be strong, long enough she had to carry an overwhelming burden on her young shoulders, all by her own. So the healer said it was nothing but fair to call for her parents to take care of her. Upcoming days would be hard enough, she wouldn't have to make them even harder, by going through them all alone. And she would be alone. She'd known it, before the psychological healer told her she would be.

Of course this pretext wasn't really well, but Hermione parents got concerned as they heard her daughters desperate voice on the telephone, so they decided on short notice closing their surgery for a few days and visiting Hermione.

Her oh so interesting room in Tom's pub was much to small to house two further persons, so the Weasleys offered to take them in the Burrow during the next days.

Somehow it worked very well. Arthur Weasley was blissfully to have so much Muggle-Know-How around him and the Grangers were happy to learn so much new about the magical world. Anyhow, Hermione doubted the mood would still be as peaceful then they came home in the evening, after the start of the trial.

xXx

It was eight a clock in the morning. All, that was confirmed officially was, that the trial which was about to take place in the next days should be against only one death-eater whose conviction should be obtained as soon as possible. Since his identity was kept dark yet, where was much room for speculations.

Hermione entered the circular courtroom with wobbly knees. Similar to a lecture theatre or a cinema hall, the wooden seat rows rose upwards so the "audience" could see the free, circular area in the middle.

No, not a cinema hall. That was wrong. The courtroom today was more likely to the arena of the Colosseum in Rome´s old days. Soon the gladiators would be brought in which should be vanquished by the gladi…no…aurors, for all the world to see as a satisfying kind of public entertainment. Afterwards Cesar, in this case the new minister and supreme judge of the wizengamott, would turn his thumb down to deathblow for Lord Voldemort.

Many more people as usual crowded into the ministry this morning. The atmosphere was prevaided with a anxious tenson. It wasn't the first death-eater trial, but of course all who´d observed the last trials noticed, that the names of all the other accused were known, only this special prisoner was nameless. Rita Skeeter even dared to call the prisoner "he-who-must-not-be-named" in her daily column. An allusion that hit the nail exactly on the head .

Rumors spread through the magical society, since no one seemed to know what really happened as Lord Voldemort died during the battle. The ministry had refused to comment about anything and… the dead body was missing. Sure, some ministry-members started the roomers that Voldemorts body had been burned in the forbidden forest, but that was just something again, nobody had seen. So, no one knew what really happened, all was known was, that the ministry hid some facts.

Yes, what had really happened that night? Ben had already told them, what the curse that fell back on him that night had been an alleviated grazing shit. Obviously he'd accomplished to weaken the force of the Avada Kedavra and to lead it away of his body-centre in the very last minute.

But this curse had been also in it's weakened form strong to injure it's creator perilous. That was fallen to the floor in the great hall wasn't a dead body but something that was on the verge of being just that. The green flash had hit the Dark Lord, he sunk to the ground and that was all that was noticed or done in the middle of all that happy people around him.

The following medical examination wasn't carried out before his body was brought to the lumber-room in which they carried him after the end of the battle. Madame Pompfrey noticed immediately, that the fallen dictator was still breathing. Minerva McGonagall, who was with her there, sent for some healers who looked after injured Hogwarts Student, to examine him again. No doubt, he was breathing. So they also sent for Kinsgley Shackelbolt to let the him about the problem. Some deeply ethical unpleasing Minutes they considered if it wouldn't be the best, to let the dying man simply lie right where he was to give free rein to the natural process … till Shackelbolt came up with the idea, how clear they could white-wash the name of the country if they saved the murderers life in order to destroy it in public later on. A treacherous murder would leave the bitter taste of something barbarian, but to kill him after he'd been correctly convicted and sentenced, that looked like proper justice.

Six people were in the lumber-room, about twelve staff members of knew who was attended, or better, locked up in the cellar. Sixteen different aurors take turns in standing guard in the hospital. This 34 people were obviously not quite as closemouthed and careful as they should be.

Either some unmindful remarks slipped out were mouths, some reports were read by the wrong eyes or some conversations were eavesdropped on the wrong ears, but all together was enough to spread a lot of new rumors whereby the Dark Lord was still alive.

But this was just a story of many others. Since the ministry still adhered to Voldemords death this information stayed rumors and nothing else.

This weekend the ministry firstly gave out some more exact information's, but the newspapers were held off till Monday eight a clock, the start of the trial. There was a great fear of a mass-panic or riots if anyone would know that might have handicapped the court.

But, as mentioned, there were rumors.

Similar to other death-eater trials, the people who wanted to watch had to write their names in lists which where hung out at the ministry, a few days ago.

Safety precautions to avoid a blood vengeance. Besides, the courtroom wasn't big enough to take all the people in who had a score to settle with the death-eaters.

In this case, in this trial, the number of viewers was limited and sieved, in addition to this. The ones who were selected got an owl last eve with a permission. Without this, no one would be allowed to enter the courtroom. All the other ones in the crowded ministry would have to wait in the corridors if this rumors would proof themselves as true.

The licensed persons were in a long queue to get into the courtroom because they had to hand their wands over to two Safety-Wizards who also registered them.

Hermione got a permission, Ron too. Like numerous of other well knows faces which sat all around the three Gryffindors. Most of them had fought Voldemort actively. The selection of the Audience was a downright good hint to identity of the accused, at all. The numbered seats in the room were apportioned to the selected ones. As much orders as possible should be arranged in the run-up.

The witnesses sat also in the courtroom, yet. They should know who they should testify against before they would be brought out to wait till they would be called.

Who entered the courtroom was surprised. The front seats were removed magically. The stage, one could call it what way, where the play was about to take place, was heightened and widened.

The room was enlightened by hundreds of torches and beacon fires. In the middle of the room, there where the free area was, where the accused should be questioned, was a mosaic, made of thousands of tiny gemstones, inserted in the floor, which pictured the Magical Brethren.

The stony floor, the with marble clothed dark, windowless walls of the basement vault and the echo-like resonate of every noise in the wide-ranging courtroom, as well as the slight mouldy smell which prevailed the cold room let it appear like a crypt.

Hermione shuddered at this compare. Of course it's been a long time ago since the last people were sentenced to death in here. The magical society of Britain abandoned doing this since 50 or 60 years, but yet, this secret World of Wizards and witches wasn't merciful but reigned with a iron fist. The punishments were often disproportional hard and cruel… and they wouldn't start to show interested in human questions if the accused one deserved a cruel treatment like (barley) no one ever before.

The Judges and Charge-Seats rounded in the circle of the Audience-Seats up, but this area was separated by thick stone-walls. Like a opera-loge, this area was much more comfortable, luxuries and every person who sat here had enough place to breath instead of the Audience who was crowded together like chicken in a laying battery.

A throne-like chair on which the accused would be chained was placed in front of this area to face the persons there.

Hermione alongside Ron and Harry on middled seats at the left end of the courtroom. The chair on which the accused would be captivated stood obliquely opposite to them. She would have him in her eyes during the whole time. Was this good or bad?

Harry seesawed nervous on his seat back and forth. Fumbled with agitated fingers about the crumpled letter he'd got a few weeks ago from the ministry. His whole body trembled, he nearly panted with nervousness and red spots appeared on his pale and fearful face. Of course he´d heard the rumors, but they were just rumors, weren't they? Since he was no horkrux anymore he had no way to invade in Voldemorts mind, so no change to see if there was still something left. To find out, if his nemesis was still alive.

Besides, he'd seen him dying, had he?

But since no one else in the room seemed to come up with a better idea who the accused could be, the atmosphere was poisoned with fear and tension. All around they muttered it. „Haven't you heard it? Does anyone know what happened to him after Harry Potter defeated? Has anyone seen his dead body?" calming objections followed immediately. "It can't be true. They'd seen him dying there. They burnt the body, so there is nothing what could be shown left."

Augusta Longbottom sat alongside her Neville at the opposite side. Luna Lovegood and her father sat, thanks to the press card, a couple of rows up front. Hermione didn't even want to imagine that Xenophilius Lovegood´s Paper would write about this revelation.

Some professors of Hogwarts were there as well. Hermione nodded and gave them an unsuccessful smile. If it was possible the avoid, Hermione would talk to them in no way. Not today. Not even to Hagrid, who, she heard it from Harry, should testify as a witness as well.

Kingsley Shackelbolt collected around him numerous, high-ranking government officials. Following to the flags in their robes, some of them came from other countries to attended this trial.

The door opened and twenty aurors entered the room which placed themselves in a circle around the dock. Red flashes shot out of the aurors wands and melted to bars around that, that was supposed to be in there, to separate it from the audience and it's judges and accusers .A protego-shield was also conjured around the judge-loge. The doors were belayed with additional bans as well.

The room looked like a big top in which's middle a predator-cage was build up.

The crowd got increasingly more nervous. Why were the safety measures tightened?

Hermione pushed Ron's side and pointed ahead. Harry turned around as well.

Draco, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were appointed a seat in the front-row. They would have to leave the room, like Harry, later on. The whole family Malfoy seemed to be caught by the agitation in the room. Their faced shone sweat-wet, and while they went into a huddle, and might whispered and muttered assumptions who the accused could be.

The aurors shortened the circle around the dock and belayed the empty seat with additional banns and curses. After this was done, they widened the circle of protectors again. As large as possible, they backed off to the Audience-rows and appeared as if they wouldn't want to get the one, who would be in their middle soon, even one inch nearer as necessary.

The murmur of the crowd got louder and louder. What could might come up to them that justified the high anxiety and wariness?

Anew the aurors raised their wands and cut the noise level. By a twirl with their wands they dimmed the voice-level of the audience to a silent whisper. But these anxious whispers, that spread in the room made it appear all the more eerie and eldritch.

Charges and judges, all of them appeared tensed. Some were white, some red-spotted in their faces. They leered at the door nervously, heavily breathing they wriggled about on their chairs if they may should put their on safety on top and hide themselves under their seats.

But at some time the tension wasn't bearable anymore and so they had to start.

Shackelbolt nodded to the charge-witch, who rose thereupon with wobbly legs so that she'd nearly fell on her assistant. But she managed to stand up again, straightened and proclaimed with a surprisingly loud and poised voice.

"Next hearing, the wizengamott against Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Some, no only a few people of the crowd turned pale on the mentioning of this name. But Hermione detected the hope in their faces that this was a due to a misunderstanding. Maybe they got Mafalda Hopkirk wrong and she said just a similar sounding name.

But the most people in the room appeared unmoved on that name so it was obvious to Hermione what they didn't had the slightest clue whose name it was. What should be so special about this Riddle? He even wasn't a known death-eater.

Harry and Ron had been so deep in their conversations that they didn't got Hopkirk calling the Accused. Totally clueless about looked around n bewilderment. Like the Malfoys did who didn't hear the Accused names neither, because they'd been so deep in puzzling about the identity of the accused.

Mafalfy Hokirk asked again for absolute silence in the room, as she went on: „Take the accused in, now."

The big, heavy ebonydoor of the hall swung up and four further aurors stepped into the courtroom. They'd taken the accused into their middle, shadowed him with their bodies in the front, to the left, to the right and back from the prying eyes of the audience. Nothing was seen but a black robe, wore by a rather tall man whose face appeared blurred in a strange way so that no one could detect anything, even on closer inspection.

A sharp scream and a women fainted. Ron and Harry jumped up their seats. "Can you see anything? What happened to the women?" Harry wanted to know from Ron as he wiped his glasses with his robe. Evidently thinking, that his smudgy glassed their to blame for him not seeing anything.

"No, nothing. I don't see anything at all. As if this guy was fogged. His totally blurred." Ron replayed disappointed as he tried with even more effort to catch anything through the black fog.

One more panicle scream and again another one. Although the whisper-charm over the hall made it impossible to the people to get loud, one could perceive an agitated murmuring from all around. The tension in the room wasn't bearable any longer.

The accused and his guards reached to dock and turned to the judge-loge. The moment the aurors who'd guided him into the room, stepped aside to walk over to the other aurors, the irrecognizable-charm which lay on the accused was taken away from him. The just a moment ago blurred silhouettes got increasingly sharper till the whole body and the pale face of the man was visible again.

There, tall, black-dressed and ghostly pale stood the most feared warlock of all ages.

Lord Voldemort.

Panic was on the verge of breaking out in the hall. Chairs were overthrown, people fell from their seats, some of them throw themselves under their neighbors place

purposely . Fearful screams echoed from the walls and lurid flashes enlightened the hall , not caused by cursed but hundreds of cameras from the press-members who shot photos so avidly, as if it was a matter of life and death.

Rita Skeeter and her Colleges would undoubtedly send thousands of them away during the day so the first of them would be printed and published in the evening prophet. And the world would know… So all in the magical world could see the presumed dead and now captivated Dark Lord.

The fear of death blew through the room like a high- infectious disease with caught all who stared at the pale man in the very middle of the room. All, without exception, rummaged around in their robes hectically and bags because they'd forgot that they'd handed their weapons out at the door.

One man, chained and surrounded by 24 aurors let the feeling of defenselessness rise in hundreds of people.

Lord Voldemort stood straight, proud and with a boastful smirk in front of his accusers and seemed to be deeply amused on the panic that broke out about his arrival. Screaming, panicle and desperate people were probably a well known sight to him.

His hands were magically chained on his back, twenty-four wands pointed at him but he was still serene and calm and didn't show the slightest trace of fear.

His sight was so strange to Hermione because it was so familiar. This was exactly the man she wanted to kill a half-year ago. He'd looked just like that during the battle at Hogwarts.

Surreal was the memory of the reduced to a skeleton, helpless man she met in early may in ´s. He must have gained 30 pounds since then so that he might still looked thin but neither weak nor ill.

That wasn´t the panicle bag of nerves to that the fear of death had made him just a few days ago. Maybe he'd yielded up to his destiny but Hermione was sure that he was just much to proud to show weakness during his last performance.

Hermione attention was caught by the family Malfoy. Narcissa was, as far as it was possible due to the jostle around her shied away with a sharp scream of horror, clutching Draco to her breast who was rather green than pale as his mother and didn't seemed to give anything on the humiliating infant-treatment he got from his mother.

Lucius Malfoys grey-blue eyes met the mischief-proclaiming red, gleaming eyes of his master and was caught by his gaze, chained and burnt… till he wasn't able to take it anymore and fainted unconscious besides his wife and son.

An old witch, who noticed Lucius break-down, jumped surprisingly fast from her seat, climbed on her chair and yelled, while she pointed with her outstretched finger at the accused. "He'd killed him!"

But Lucius was already awake and allowed his wife and his son to get him on his feet again. Voldemort himself rewarded this play with an sneering grin.

His eyes wandered over the three Malfoys pleasurably , as his lips formed a mute, profoundly evil greet. Hermione knew this sparkle in his eyes If the aurors hadn't been around him, or even a few less… the Malfoys wouldn't have one further minute to life on.

How about Lucius break-down? Voldemort couldn't have…no, that was impossible. Hopefully.

The accused didn't have a counsel for defense. Another detail that made the wizengamott, and the whole magical Britain look morally questionable. There were no lawyers in the usual sense. There were some people who offered their help and advises against money, but the accused had to be alone in the court. So no wonder, that accused turned almost automatically into convict.

Voldemorts death's head like head turned slowly from the right corner of the room through the right and seemed to bowl on his shoulders and long throat, while he combed with a sharp glance through the audience to search for familiar. Every time his eyes caught former victims, he sneered at them and nodded hardly noticeable. As his glance reached the left, as he saw Hermione, his smirk froze.

Hermione swallowed, felt heat and redness rise in her face, she considered for a moment but than forced herself to a encouraging smile and nodded to her captured friend. He looked at her a few seconds, to her, no doubt about this, with an unmoved mien, the his thin lips curled to something that might could mean "Hermione" , replayed the nod with half-closed eyes into her direction, then turned over to the judge-loge again.

The one who'd watched this stared stunned at Hermione. This weren´t less. The eyes of the persons slid from her to him, back again to her, over to him and then they shook their heads with disbelieving horror in their eyes.

Harry and Ron gasped, wheezed and squeezed themselves backwards into their seats…till their eyes wandered to Hermione who seemed to be the only one in the whole hall who sat absolutely still, transformed into a pillar of salt, straight, frozen, between her two best friends. And they knew, without needing one single word, they knew Hermione's secret.

Knowing they looked at the young girl and moved immediately a few inches away from her, needed distance and room in order to grasp the whole situation which revealed itself in it's in its entirety.

Ron coughed, his brain was devoured to a tremendously knot which's convolutions seemed only to be able to handle what he'd just heard in slow-motion.

Disbelieving, as if she was a hallucination, Ron stared to Hermione, to Voldemort, back to Hermione and then help seeking over to Harry. Harry looked as if he was on the verge of vomiting, considering if he should rather faint or scream and pressed his hand against the scar on his head. But if he suffered from headaches now, this couldn't be caused by his connection to Voldemort, could it?

The black-haired young-man couldn't take his eyes away from his nemesis, as if he was under a spell, he stared at the man who ´d ruled his destiny. The one he stared at honored the horror of his former victim pleasurably by smirking at him with a threatening, big shark-grin.

Hermione swallowed, searched for words, wanted to apologies herself or, at least, to explain but Ron didn't listen to her. Didn't seem to be near her at all, deeply sunken in memories till he finally turned his head slowly to her and asked reproachful. "I see."

His glance was reproachful and accusingly but he wasn't able to speak on. He wasn't even able to yell at her or to blame her for that she'd done because this might could mean that he'd get answered to questions he was scared of. Hermione slipped closer , wanted to hug him, wanted to do anything to be with him but he just moved away from her and pushed her arm away.

Ron didn't look at her mute begging for sympathy or forgiveness. All he did was to shook his head, stood up without looking at her and changed his seat with Harry to have a human barrier between them.

Harry himself was still to stunned to recognize anything. Just stared at the man whose death he thought he was to blame for and who now smirked at him, whispering sneering words. Noiseless to everyone else in the room but Hermione knew all to well how threatening Voldemorts conjuration sounded that flooded Harry's head now.

A broad-shouldered, blonde auror tipped Voldemort with his wand on his shoulder. The sudden wince that thrilled the wrapped in a black robe pale body told Hermione, that the prisoner was upbraided with an electric-shock like curse.

The connection between Harry and Voldemort broke down. Short, very short, just a heart-beat long, Harry seemed tempted to turn to Hermione to bomb her with millions of reproaches and question, but he paused in his movement, set bounds to himself and turned to on instead.

She didn't hear about what the two young man conversed as they huddled together. They whispered, but on and off gazes fell on Hermione which weren't friendly.

Sie hörte nicht, worüber die jungen Männer sich unterhielten. Sie flüsterten, doch immer wieder fielen Blicke Hermine hinüber, und diese Blicke, sie waren nicht freundlich.

The young women shrunk to something that felt as worthless as the dirt under her shoes.

It toke some minutes till the security-personal and the beadles calmed the panic in the hall down so that the Charge-Witch made to turn her attention back from the raging Audience to the accused. With magical strengthened , but undeniable troubled sounding voice, she addressed the Dark Lord. "Are you Tom Marvolo Riddle. Born on 31 December 1925 in London?"

Voldemort nodded. „Yes."

Mafalda Hopkirk dared to arche and eye-brow and looked into his face. "Is it Tom or Thomas?"

Voldemort smirked. "No, just Tom."

Shackelbolt rose to speak. He stood up and Malady sat down. "Mr. Riddle. Is it right that you're better known under the self-chosen pseudonym "Lord Voldemort" in our world?"

Voldemort nodded again, seemed to be rather bored than attentive.

"Yes. I bear this name since schooldays." Sounded the strong, pervading and dreadful cold voice in the deadly silent room. Goosebumps blew like pollen through the room at the sound of this voice, gave the creeps to everyone who heard it.

Shackelbolt tried to look severe and authoritarian, but seemed to be worried at Voldemorts poise.

Maybe he'd just remembered how he fought together with Slughorn and McGonagall against the warlock in front of him. Even they'd been three they didn't had a change… Even tough they all belonged to the most skilled magicians on the continent.

„Mr. Riddle. I inform you that the court is not willing to accept this name. It's self chosen, is entirely unfounded and is a synonym for decades of terror which is over now. The court won't support this, by submitting to your megalomania. We well call you Mr. Riddle during the trial."

Shackelbolt had to dab his sweated forehead before he was able to go on. "Mr. Riddle. Do you know that our world considers you as dead since the battle of Howarts?"

„Yes. I've been told so." replayed the accused, still totally calm.

„Well, then I'm now going to explain you and the people why." Shackelbolt, a gigantic, black man folded his hands devoutly, seemed to need a moment to collect before we went on to explain the circumstances that persuaded him to the secrecy.

„After you'd been hit by the curse one thought you were dead. The following medical examination detected vital-functions. You'd been taken away to keep your survival a secret. One wouldn't give you the change the attract misplaced attention or committing followers to you again. You will keep your actual abode a secret. I won't allow you to give any interviews to define your position."

Threatening glances fell on the deeply disappointed appearing Rita Skeeter, and wandered over to other representatives of the press who all made a face as if Christmas and birthdays would be canceled for the next 30 years.

„You will have to testify in court and nowhere else. You've had enough time to terrorize the world with your threats and delusional ideas. This is over now."

The worst had come to the worst, but now was time to ensure safety. The wands still raised, two aurors stepped out of the circle, pointed at Voldemorts head and made two long, black panels shoot out of their tips that met over Voldemorts head, melted together, placed themselves around Voldemorts head and tied up by an invisible hand.

This served two purposed at one. On the one hand it could avoid Voldemort from taking possession of other people with eye-contact, but on the other hand it was a way to calm the people in the court because they didn't had to see these cruel, flaming eyes while talking to him.

Shackelbolt sat down, dabbed his forehead again, considered that was the next to come, then nodded to Mafalda Hopkirk, the present chief of the Magical Law Enforcement and summoned her to talk. "Read the charge out now, please."

Mafalda Hopkirk arose again. The eyes directed to the parchment in her hands she began to enumerate the upcoming items."

"The International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats and the whole international federation of warlocks bring a charge against Tom Marvolo Riddle. Charges are:

Genocidecrimes against humanityFoundation and leadership of a terrorist organization of international extend. Execution and incitement to murder, torture and rape in countless cases

 Incitement of the people

 Ethnocide on Muggles. More precisely defined: Libel, vilification and discrimination of all not-magic people.

 Psychologically abuse and torture in countless cases

 kidnapping, abduction and false imprisonment in countless cases

 Spreading of apartheid.

 Mass-Mourder of magic Creatures, as well as torturing them

 Enslavement of magical creatures.

 Execution as well as enhancements of the dark arts: Particularly the making of seven Horcruxes as well as the use of unforgivable curses.

 Incitement to the unforgivable curses in countless cases.

 Incitement to the dark arts.

 xecution and incitement to the use of unforgivable curses in countless cases.

 False arrests and sentences without a legal basis

 Displacement of half-bloods, muggle-born und not-magical humans.

 Overthrow of the elected government. Putsch

 Necessitation of the followers to commit crimes against their will

 Necessitation of minor wizards to commit the named above crimes

 Undermining of the domestic economy

 Misappropriation of valuably, magical objects as well as the destruction of government property

 Abuse of titles

n addition, all of this crimes show a cruelty of so far unknown extend.

That's why the charge demands a death sentence.

Did you understand this?"

„Yes!" sounded the Dark Lords cold, clear voice who'd really yawned as his crimes were read out. And still he stood there, faced his charges, straight and poised, without any sign or fear or remorse in his face.

Hermione had loved nothing better than kicking him. Why did have to yawn? And other ones had seen this too. Mute fingers pointed at him, disbelieving mumbling pervaded the room, nodding and disgusted glares followed.

But at the same time she'd almost run to him to take him into her arms, to protect him from so much hate. But… they their right, she knew it. All who hated him had reason to do this.

He won't survive this, in no case. That, so thought Hermione to herself, is impossible. "Good" a mere heart-breath long, the charge-witch seemed to have lost the thread… Voldemorts lips curled sneering… could he really have manipulated his accuser? Hermione was appalled at so much presumptuousness.

But then the blonde women with the pageboy picked up courage again, adjusted her glasses, found the parchment she'd forgotten in fact between her fingers again and spoke on with a little disarranged voice. "I will no explain the proceeding. The charge has 40 witnesses subpoenaed, who will verify the crimes you are charged as true. I want to point out that these cases are in fact just exemplary. Hundreds of thousands or perhaps millions could tell us something just like that. But all those witnesses are staying for certain periods of your life, Mr. Riddle. You will be allowed to comment on accusation after the end of the particular testimony. I now have to ask all witnesses to leave the courtroom till we will call them. So please, leave the hall now. Except for Mr. Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy, we're going to start with you."

Mafalda looked up from her parchment, lifted a hand and summoned him to betake himself to the witness stand.

Turbulences came up again is the witness walked out of the room. Guided from aurors they shoved themselves through the cramped seat rows, pushed and jostled other persons because not one of them looked to ahead but to the Dark Lord who appeared to be quite casual.

Because Harry had to leave to, Hermione sat again alongside Ron, who didn't seem to have recognized the free seat between them at all. He kneaded his hands, let his eyes wander through the crowd and smiled on and off to familiar-faced. Neville Longbottom for example.

Hermione felt again as if her heart or would burst what with all of these contradictory feelings.

She'd known it. She'd known it since she 11 and read her first book about the magical world. She'd witnessed as he haunted Harry. As he haunted her and all the other "mudbloods" in the country and witnessed Voldemort menacing the whole world.

Since Dumbldedore had warned them against him. Since Harry had disclosed his secrets. Since they'd moved off to destroy him and particularly since she'd met this met this murderer for the first time.

Since then she knew that he was vicious. More than vicious, the most evil thing on earth was the man who now was on trial without a trace of remorse about the crimes he'd done.

And yet…yet she couldn't believe it.

The pitiable pictures of the last months were just too actual . Unforgettable were also the not unpleasing hours they'd spend together as they'd got to know each other better.

Monsters are nether humans who are so closed to you. Such big-time criminals were only in news papers. That couldn't be the man she'd to tend like a baby as she began in St. Mungo, who'd offered her lessons and taught her so many fascinating things, who'd, what now become clear to her , borne all of her therapy-attempts with an unearthly patience. The man who'd sometime not been able to breathe then the fear of death overwhelmed him.

How could a man, who'd been so good, who'd shown so much affection to a little cat, who waited hours just for a good moment to stroke her cheeks, who'd freaked out every time he'd got the sniffles… could this same man be to one who'd tortured, killed and…she didn't even dared to think about… raped so many people?

At least, they gave him adequate clothes. In no way to preserve his dignity. They gave him a black robe to increase his recall value. All should see, recognize, grasp that HE was the terror who´d threatened the whole world.

„Sit down." Hopkirk addressed the captive again. The handcuffs were unloosed, then they sat him on the chair and chained his hands, legs, arms, knees, chest and waist with red-gleaming

Curses.

Mafalada Hopfkirk folded her hands on her lap as if she wanted to pray. She glanced through the room, full of sympathy for all the people who'd gathered there and especially for those who didn't know about the trial, because they were already dead.

"Before the hearing starts, we will observe a minute's silence in memory of the victims of the war. Witches and Wizards who cannot attend the trial anymore because they are dead. We dedicate this trial to all those , we can bestow justice only afterwards. Those whose pain we cannot alleviate anymore. Let us be silent for a minute and hope, that we can offer comfort to the bereaved at least, by acknowledging their sorrow and the injustice they'd experienced. An injustice we're going to sentence and punish now."

All the people in the hall lowered their saddened eyes and thought on their died family members, friends, colleges and neighbors. Grey faces, wherever one looked. A funeral to burry the injustice who sat in the shape of Lord Voldemort in their middle.

Hermione kept the silence too, lowered her eyes and watched her hands, while she thought about Dumbledore and all the others who weren't alive anymore. Because of him…the man who'd – could it be?- almost made one of the aurors taking his fetters off him, if his colleges hadn't prevented it.

Appalled glances were exchanged, only beaten by the amusement in his face. No one was safe before his face. He'd proofed it… as well as he'd proofed that they couldn't kill him fast enough.

This though was unbearable. She moved closer to Ron, sobbing silently. But right in the moment she stood up to sit herself on the free place between them, Ron pushed his neighbor aside in order to get even further away from her. Still he deigned to look at her but closed his eyes, pressed his lips together and swayed back and forth.

Hermione raised her wand, wanted to bring comfort to him but he beat her hand away as he felt her touch with a nauseated expression. Their eyes met, only short, but Ron's eyes were so could and she noticed nothing but contempt and an unutterably disappointment in them. Unable to say just one single word he shook his head and turned away from her. Every inch of his body seemed to yell: "How could you?". More than just a free seat, a whole world seemed to separate them.

„I call to the stand: Mr. Lucius Malfoy!" echoed the now poised and colder voice of Mafalda Hopkirk through the hall.

A beadle arose and walked to the blonde, elegant appearing man an led him to his seat underneath the judge-loge.

The way they all knew him, cold, arrogant, boastful… Lucius Malfoy wasn't like that anymore.

Not today, at least. Lucius stumbled with every second step because he wasn't able to avert his fear-widened eyes from his former master so he'd almost forgot his feet. The dull rumble of his heavy step was always followed from faster, scurried , drumbeats when he stumbled.

The witness stand stood beside the judge-loge so Lucius would have to face Voldemort while testifying. Thanks to the whisper-charm who caused a dimmed silence in the room, Lucius Malfoys gasping breath sounded like the rattle of a dementor. Undoubtedly Lucius´d preferred the dementor, the way he looked now.

The assumption was all too right, that surprisingly all witnesses would have went on a holiday if they'd known who they would have to testify against. No one were appeared.

The corners of Lucius mouth trembled. Over and over again his eyes hushed from Voldemort to the door, then back to Voldemort, again over to the door…seemed to consider whether he had a change to escape if the Accused attacked him. But since he sat on the left side of the room and the door was on the right, he might had a bad hand.

Yet, Voldemort was, as it seemed , sufficiently guarded. So the former death-eater sat resigned down on his chair, slumped down so he'd looked only half as tall as before. Lucius coughed, fiddled nervously around with his suit and pressed himself against the back of his chair.

„Mr. Malfoy. Do you see the man whose known as Lord Voldemort in this room? If yes, please point at him with your finger." The accuser continued .

Lucious, his eyes lowered to the floor, pointed with his outstretched, trembling arm into the captives direction. Pulled it back so fast, as if something had burnt him. Completely possible that he had real pains, Hermione thought. She wouldn't put it past on Voldemort to punish Malfoy.

"Good morning, Lucius. So, you want to betray me?" echoed the accuseds cold, clear voice from the walls of the hall. Voldemorts nearly lipless mouth seemed to take the breadth of a bottom plate as it deformed to a scornful grin. The rest eye-brows arched, Voldemort licked his teeth and nodded to his former follower.

Lucius winced as if being stabbed by something sharp, lifted his shoulders as if he'd tried to hide his head between them and threw pleading glanced to the judge-loge. Maybe he hoped that Shackelbolt could sent him home when noticing this "threat".

"My Lord. I… I would nether…I had to….you know that…" Lucius stammered fearful, who'd now thrown even the rest of his dignity to the wind.

Voldemort threw back his head and laughed out. Even though it hadn't been particularly loud, the noise pervaded the whole hall so that even the walls seemed to sneer at Lucius.

A dull blow from a hammer ended the ghostly tone. "Mr. Malfoy you have to call the accused Mr. Riddle. The court forbids you subject to the imposition of sanctions the use any of the titles the accused has circulated. Did you understand?" Kingsley Shackelbolts voice was loud and severe, he wasn't willing to let the whole thing get out of his hand.

Lucius shrunk, if possible, even more in his seat. His eyes rushed from the accused whose mouth seemed to form the words „Lucius, Lucius" up to the Judge-loge where Shackelbolt frowned at him. He nodded obedient and lowered his eyes.

This short moment, as the witness and the judge looked to each other, made one sense who great Lucius fear was of going to Azkaban. But this meant otherwise, and Hermione couldn't help agreeing with him, that Lucius´fear of Shackelbolt was greater than his fear of his former Master who seemed to be defeated in his eyes.

Shackeltbolt thundered again with the hammer on the desk, raised this threatening like a wand and pointed at the accused to set clear limits. "And you Mr. Riddle, you have to remain silent till you're asked something. You don't have the right to chime in or to threat the witnesses in order to intimidate them. Believe me, we have ways to make the rest even more unpleasing to you." A short meaningful pause gave the unmoved smirking accused, the shivering Hermione and the gleeful audience time to think about what Shackelbolt could have meant as he said "the rest" and "more unpleasing."

Shackelbolt thundered several times with his heavy hammer on the desk. "You'll have to opportunity to comment on this accusations after Mr. Malfoys testimony. Till then, keep silent."

Sneering, scornful and cold was the smile, the Judge got as an answer and made Shackelbolt like a defiant toddler.

But, at least, he was quiet and listened, with pleasure, to Lucius testimony. And Lucius told. Told about the massmurders of muggles his lord as ordered his followers to commit. Told about the murder of Rufus Scrimgeour. Told about the punishments Lord Voldemort administered if one of the death-eaters made a mistake. Of course he also told about the night as the death-eaters broke into the Department of Mysteries, about the battle at Hogwarts and what horrors Voldemort spread in the rest of the world.

Voldemort himself gave Lucius a patronizing smile and commented this testimony with: "Actually, Lucius should be grateful for getting so many tasks. Doesn't it border on the miraculous that such a failure has survived his own stupidity."

Thereafter the blonde ex-death-eater, obviously relieved for being still alive, was allowed to leave the stand. Other witnesses already waited, or better, were forced to wait, to testify against the one who must not be named.

Draco, if possible, appeared even more troubled and scared as his father as he followed him to be in the stand. Undoubtedly became clear to him about which mutual acquaintances Hermione had talked about as they met the last time.

No matter how big Hermiones averseness to Draco Malfoy was, today she truly felt sorry for him as she saw him pointing with his thin, outstretched finger at the accused who stalked him like a hungry predator.

Halting, deathly pale and with tears in the eyes he reported, that Lord Voldemort had threaded to kill his family if he wouldn't try to kill Dumbledore. Ashamed he continued, that the Dark Lord ordered the same task to Severus Snape because he didn't believe Draco would be able to accomplish his task. So Dracos dead was planned to punish Lucius for his mistakes. But Draco survived Dumbledores dead and so Voldemort abused him as a instrument of torture.

The poor young man must have been going through horrible times. Full of contempt to himself he told how he tantalized, maybe killed, other people in the name of his master. And Draco had to talk about all this in order to proof that he did all these crimes against his will. Yes, Hermione felt sorry for Draco and contempted the accused. But her heart didn't want to believe what her ears have heard.

The accused himself, Lord Voldement, commented the crimes on and trough Draco with as well as his planned dead as a punishment for Lucius with a laconic: "Well, the boy hat to be useful for something, at least."

Can't anyone go to him to shut this nutter up, Hermione pleaded inwardly.

Only well known victims and follower had to speak… but who in the whole world wouldn't have to blame him for something? Where was certainly no family to which he hadn't done something. No families he hadn't threatened, destroyed or tantalized in either way. Some witnesses from other countries also reported about terrible things. After his return on the graveyard he'd obviously extended his international efforts.

From all corners of the world witches and wizards were buried out which tried to trump each other with her horror-stories. Actually one could have laughed about the obvious zeal of the people to show that they'd won the competition of having experienced the worst thing in the whole world. They tried so hard to embellish their stories with baneful adjectives.

But no one laughed of course and Hermione didn't either, instead she could barley restrain her tears because all was true.

Yes, he'd killed other people as he was a student. Used his first job in order to rob and murder rich people who just wanted to protect valuable objects and had always blamed other people for his misdoings. All the reports of his young days, as he traveled through the world and hired so many death-eaters as possible…. as he tortured haphazardly victims just to demonstrate his power…. It was true.

And of course he'd planned and started a ethnic cleansing on muggles and mudbloods. He also soucht for the most wicked doings he could use to make his horcruxes.

He got more and more powerful after his return till he reigned the whole country as a shadow minister last year and did things which were so terrible, what Hermione had to do out of the room to take a breathe of fresh air because she couldn't stand the bitter truth anymore. Even she didn't hear it she knew, what he'd also planned to extend his power over the whole world. The mad dream of every megalomaniac…

His cruelty didn't stop at his followers. The reports on what he'd done to his "friends", or better "servant" were just terrible and drew a picture from a human being who didn't deserve this term anymore.

Hermione sat crying in the courtroom. Her throat hurt, was choked from an invisible hand, iron-chains around her chest, and her head ached, she felt sick and now matter how she'd tried to hold herself back, she couldn't stop crying. The tears run and run like a river, which didn't want drying up.

Ron shoved himself as far away as possible and did his very best to ignore her.

The hearing was carried out in overlength. It started at 8o´clock in the morning and would take till 10 o'clock at night. Hermione was surrounded by sobbing and crying. People around her were on the verge of breaking down with every new story they heard.

Even the usually cynic, poised Rita Skeeter sat silently whimpering in her corner, swayed herself back and forth and tried not looking to the back clothed man in front of her.

But from time to time the reporters eyes wandered into her direction, as all the other eyes in the room did. But winced, every time the accused did the slighted movement.

All witnesses who did so great efforts to report something terrible, all spoke very softly and Shackelbolt told them over and over again to speak louder. Perhaps they were afraid of getting punished if the Dark Lord identified them. Looked as if they really thought Lord Voldemort could kill with his thoughts. Somehow Hermione wasn't sure if he was able to do this too.

Hermione wished so hard to go to the dock to batter the accused.

Anger flamed up in her, no, she was cooking hot with anger, humiliation and disappointment about this chess-game. He behaved simply terrible. Anyhow, he behaved like usual, or should she better say…like before?

Aberforth Dumbledore was one of the last fit to be questioned member of the phoenix order. He told about Voldemorts first powerful time. Things, his brother had told him or he'd seen himself. About abductions, tortures of numerous people and about wizards and witched who'd simply disappeared. But he also told about the Longbottoms who'd fought against the accused several times.

Aberforth was no well-educated man, some sentences were hard for him. Often he had to pause to formulate his answers. Voldemort sat during this stops fidgety in his seat, scurried bored and impatiently with his fingers and took a deep breath to show he irritated he was by Aberforth´s slowness. Aberforth, who had the accused in his field of view, got more and more nervous. Halted often that raised a malicious smile in the Lords face.

Even though the voices of the audience were dimmed, one heard Augusta Longbottoms silent whimpering as Aberforth reported about the last fight and the torture of her son and his wife, done by Bellatrix Lestrange. The accused seemed to have good ears, because he burst out in laughter as he heard a very heart-breaking sob.

Of course he was reproved, but what was it good for? He should die in a few days. What could they else do to him? So he continued with following the testimonies either bored or amused. And he beamed with pride, every time he heard particularly cruel doings.

What was the success of Hermiones therapy-efforts?

He even corrected his meanwhile rather aged former employers Burgin und Borkes as they told about his doings during his time in their store. Added some curses he did to get some of the valuable magical objects they had in their store.

But he wasn't able to remember a lot of things. As the auror told about some assaults that costed hundreds of muggle lives, he just shrugged, arched, as it seemed, stumped his eye-brows and sighed bored and commented relaxed. It's probably true. I don't know it exactly. Write it down, I'm not able to remember everything."

He talked big as if was asked for his reasons and plans. Full of proud and fervency he declared all his doings as justified.

Intelligent and rhetorical gifted as he was, he made even haphazardly massmurders sounding like political necessary chess moves. It was awful.

Hermione ached to go to him, shake, kick and batter. He'd insulated her personally as he forthright characterized muggles and mudbloods as intellectually challenged animals.

How clearer could he show that he was so far way from remorse like Aberforth from the Nobel prize.

And Hermione felt terrible ashamed because Ron and her other friends saw how useless her attempts had been to make him remorseful. He and remorse? Risible… So risible that the accused couldn't stop chuckling while Rubeus Hagrid talked.

What had she reached? Nothing…

But unfortunately, something had changed. The young Gryffindor couldn't help admitting that this all hadn't been so terrible if her feeling for him hadn't changed. Maybe Ron was right with his mute accusing frowns, he gave her over and over again during the last months.

Maybe she really felt something for her prisoner.

The man who sat on the stage and declared with utter conviction that Albus Dumbledore had been and old fool because he employed Creatures, no, he didn't call them humans, like Hagrid or Lupin in his school.

He called Hagrid, who testified to wash himself clear from the murder of the moaning Myrte, a mentally retarded half-giant. The chatted so cheerily that he almost looked drunk.

Drunk?

If his strange cheery mood was an result of calmatives or other drugs? Drugs he needed because it was just two weeks ago that he'd lain crying in Hermione's lap like an infant. Because he'd suffered from paranoia and became a nervous wreck. A wreck who now declared totally calm but well articulated that the elimination used for the benefit of the magical society?

Maybe the aurors did an overkill to avoid further panicle fits during the trial so they drugged him to the eyeballs. His eyes were really looking a bit glassy as he greeted her…

He'd presumably also got veritaserum. So unhesitating he admitted everything.

Hopefully he's high, Hermione begged mutely and not really just proud of his atrocities.

Yes, certainly. He'd changed in some ways. Primarily in his behavior to her, the mudblood. Although he'd never talked about this, she KNEW he liked her. She felt his affection for her. Especially during the last time before his psychological downfall. She FELT he liked her as much as it was possible to him. At least… she hoped so. And…remembering the time he held on to her… It broke the young woman's hearth then she thought back to this unhappy creature.

And now…now he sat there and explained how he'd instructed his death-eaters to murders and abductions. His head jerked into towards Lucius Malfoy pleasurably, where he heard an appalled gasp. Referred derisive to Lucius as he was asked to describe the tortures. They should ask Lucius, not him, because Lucius had proofed himself, at least, as a deeply skilled torturer.

Yet she decided to go to him after the trial. No matter what… Hermione wanted to be with him till…and it was impossible to her fooling herself. The sentence wouldn't change. The kind his behavior was like today… who else in the whole world wouldn't want to see him dead?

SHE! Hermione. She didn't want it but wishing this, she was alone in the world.

He gave the appearance as if he'd never enjoyed himself so much as today. Like a child who was happy about hearing a bed-time story he listened while the witnesses spoke about his cruelties.

Hermione was drenched in tears. Impossible to say, what hurt her the most:

…the fact, that all hated her fosterling?

…that she may would loose her friends and fall out with her family because of him?

.. that she felt deep sympathy with all the people who hated him so much because she knew that they were right?

… that the Dark Lord himself showed nothing but pride or disinterest on the reports of his crimes?

…or the strange kind he touched herself and her grief about having to let him go in a few days?

It was simply so… changeless to hope something else.

Please, she begged, please let him be drugged. This at least. Please don't let him be responsible for his behavior in court.

Ron, who still sat next to her, was pale. Cold hated and disgusted were drawn in his face. Who he execrated the most? Lord Voldemort or his- hopefully not- ex-girlfriend.

About 8 o'clock in the evening Harry and Ron wanted to home. It was just another break. 105min hearings, then a 15min pause. This was one oh them. Harry had just come into the room to tell Ron that he was allowed to go because he wouldn't have to testify today.

Ron nodded silently and arose. She didn't ask Hermione to go with them, but she did so. Ron and Harry and Ron went ahead with stony miens, the unhappy Hermione slouchy and with lowered head walked behind them.

They took Voldemort out of the hall during the breaks. Where? She didn't know it. Hermione's eyes rushed over the crown while they fought themselves through all this jostling people. Outside the court the whisper-charm didn't work so it was terrible loud. Screams, agitated conversations, yells, victory whoops and saddened sobs prevailed the floor.

She also saw Helen. But this was the person Hermione wanted the meet at least of all. Fast, before Helen had seen her, she jostled forwards and followed the two young men.

They had to wait over 15minutes till they caught an elevator. Too many people jostled into and out them. As they finally made it Hermione's companions still did as if they didn't know her. They didn't know her either, as they walked through the entrance hall to get a chimney to the burrow. The entrance-hall was terrible cramped so Hermione grasped Ron's robe in order for not getting lost.

Magical boosted voices pervaded the entrance hall and reported every detail of Voldemorts temporary – they really called it so – survival. Larger-than-life pictures were thrown at the walls. Pictures of him. Red-flaming eyes wherever one looked.

So the young Girl decided to close her eyes and stumbled behind the two young man. The one hand clutched on Ron's robe, the other hand clutched Harry's Shirt. Two men who did as if she was invisible. Even as they finally made to get a chimney they deigned to look at her.

What would wait for her in the burrow? What did her parents know about Voldemort? Would they understand her? And the Weasleys? told his family certainly everything he know about Hermione's job. Besides… Ron would do so too. And she'd seen his reaction.

Hermione was unutterable alone as she entered the crowded burrow.

**Reviews? *beg***


	21. Condemnations

**Brezel: **Hi. I hope Voldemorts *cough* inner values are truly well hidden. I mean… he's not a nice person. But, I tried to show that even a deeply mean person is still a human being. Even he's not a nice human being.

**Ariana:** Thanks a lot for the compliments. Don't about your English. My English is even worse… absolutely :o) But anyway, the whole Story has 24 chapters. So still three chapters…I hope you'll like the rest of the story too. I'm kind of proud. Actually I didn't want to translate all chapters because it takes such a long time but… I'm happy I did it anyway. Almost… but the last three chapters are shorter…

**serpent3: **Hi. Well I have do admit that I don't want to kill Voldemort. Otherwise… would the others persons agree with me? You'll find out in chapter 23. Hope you'll enjoy it…like it.

* * *

**You become responsible forever for what you have tamed.**

_(The Little Price)_

_Antoine de Saint-Exupery._

**Chapter 21: Condemnations**

A hasty movement with the wand protected Hermione head from being hit by a flying past fry pan. The one, who'd thrown it, was the from head to toe fire-red shining Ginny Weasley. Thereafter, Hermione hunkered down, followed some glasses and plates which stood on the table-desk next to them.

Exactly the table, where the perturbed looking Grangers and the yelling Weasley's had sat only a few minutes ago. Till the whole situation got beyond control and the Weasley's burst out in rage and started to bomb her with accusations or, Hermione took cover again, other things.

Mr Granger pulled Hermione up, clung her protecting on to him and watched her with an aware, pensively glance. He sighed and stroke fondly with his hand over her forehead. Mrs. Granger had thrown herself like a lion-mother between her daughter and the brawly Mrs. Weasley, where she needed all her strength to hold off Mrs. Weasley from grabbing and shaking Hermione.

Mr. Weasley, who'd known what Hermione had done, at least in some way, sat sunk down on a chair in a corner and watched his folded hands. Seemed to be lost in a mute prayer. He didn't dare to speak now, because Mrs Weasley had already shouted him down in the morning, as they turned the radio on while they had breakfast.

Mr Granger was for the most time a level-headed, friendly. Even now, as he tried to protect his daughter from the raging mob, he kept calm and tried to arbitrate. "Molly, oh please stop shouting and listen to me," he begged the fuming Mrs Weasley who fought bravely with the also fury-like Mrs Granger.

Mrs Weasley did not hear the calming words, didn't want to hear them, because she was too appalled and disappointed to have sober thoughts. Ginny, who stood next to her mother, swore vilely things like traitor, scum, bitch and slut, was only outclassed by the alongside his mother standing Ron, who threw all the horrible details of the horcrux-hunt back in her face.

In the meantime, Bill Weasley, who had also known much more as he was allowed to admit, fought with his cursing brother Charley. He was supported by the rather helpless appearing Percy, who was at the ministry's side of necessity, but now sought desperately for arguments why he agreed with Shackelbolt and why they weren't entitled to question his decisions.

„BE QUIET AND SIT DOWN!" boomed suddenly a magical-boosted voice like a thunderstorm from the corner through the room. Mr Weasley had got up and paced surprisingly poised to his wife.

His a bit awed appearing sons Percy and Bill followed and gave Hermione pitiful glances. The moment their eyes met Hermione become aware, that it was the first time for weeks, that the two young men dared to look into her eyes. How much had they known all the time?

Of course, Percy and Bill felt ashamed in front of their mother but they also wanted their father to speak about the things, they had to keep dark for such a long time.

„WILL YOU ALL KINDLY SIT DOWN! THEN I WILL TELL YOU EVERYTHING IN KNOW! HERMIONE," Mr Weasley pulled Hermione away from his wife and shoved her on a chair which stood at the head-end of the long kitchen-table. "MOLLY, STOP IT!" the red-haired man ordered while he pulled his wife with him as well and tried to sit her on a chair which stood some chairs away from the shivering Hermione and placed himself between them.

She'd never seen Mr Weasley so serious and so strict like now as he stood behind his little, round wife, watching out that she wouldn't jump up to attack Hermione, again. His just a moment ago empty arms, dragged Ron and Ginny to him and pushed the two twining Teenagers alongside their mother.

Mr and Mrs Granger were surprised by two suddenly behind them along floating chairs which pushed them in the hollows of their knees, made them falling back and shoved them alongside their daughter.

„She, THEY", Mrs. Weasley spit with every yelled word thin salivary threads into the air, while her head jerked over towards the Grangers "they shall leave our house. Arthur… immediately. I don't want to see such a bunch in here" the totally hysterical women gagged out.

Arthur Weasley wasn't intimidated by her this time, instead he pressed his hands on Molly's shoulders to push his fretting with fume wife back on her seat and smiled almost embarrassed to the Grangers. "The shock, she thought this issue was over and now…"

"DON´T DARE APOLOGIZING FOR ME! ARTHUR! I´M NOT THE ONE WHO HAS TO JUSTIFY MYSELF;" the little woman cut her husband off.

"No, of course not. But please let me explain what has happened", Mr Weasley begged now almost submissive again.

„BUT BEFORE YOU MUST THROW THEM OUT, DAD! I DON´T WANT TO HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH THEM ANYMORE!" Ron shouted out behind his father what brought him an angry push from Percy, who held him and Ginny together with his brother down.

„BE QUIET, WILL YOU, AND LISTEN TO ME!" Mr Weasley boomed again back from the walls. Surprised by the anger in his voice and the steely determination in his eyes the fights broke up and made room for a deadly silence in the room.

Percy and Bill sat with attentive eyes alongside their siblings. Even though obviously agitated, even Charley approached frowning. Muttered silent threats to his brothers if they'd dare yanking on him on his chair forcibly.

Fleur, visibly annoyed, at her husbands appeasing manner, paced elegant but with head held high to the still with used dishes loaded table and sat herself, deigning to look at the Grangers, in the middle.

The whole day long, the family had might been to shocked to say anything about the reports they read in the Daily Prophet or heard on the radio, but now was the time they their able again to let their fume out, so they'd started to fight as Mr Weasley, Bill and Percy came home. They'd argued heatedly during the whole dinner instead of eating. They smiled patronizing at best at the Grangers, because they didn't seemed to be as shocked at this news, as the rest of the eating people in the room.

The sizzling cauldron exploded as Ron, Harry and Hermione came back. Actually it hadn't become clear of what the Weasley's exactly accused her. So vile insults flooded like a deluge over Hermione, instead of a well-conceived accusation. First and foremost they were mad at her, because she hadn't told them anything. Accompanied the Weasley's to the support group., saw the grief and despair of all the people there and was did she do? Nothing. No, even worse… went to the root of the evil to bring him something to eat and clean clothes. They accused Hermione of listening derisively to their harm. Certainly she sneered at them with her fosterling, the next day.

But nothing could have been phonier.

„Well," Mr Weasley began, fighting for air and self-control „I'll tell you now what I know. But actually I'm no allowed to, but you mustn't be unfair."

„FAIR? WAS HE EVER FAIR TO ANYONE? HE´D KILLED MY PARENTS AND LAUGHED AT THIS! IS IT FAIR, THAT HE WANTED TO KILL ME? IS IT…" the nearly torn into pieces with rage Harry couldn't say more because he'd had to press his hand at his mouth again, in order not to vomit his dinner again. It would have been the third time tonight.

The sight of the dead-believed man who never desired anything so much as killing him, added with Hermiones "defection" and the repulsively cheery mood of the accused, was more as his stomach was able to take.

George, who'd become thin and pale, sneaked rather than walked over to the foot-end of table, pulled Harry with him and sat down. "Shut down, Harry. You're not only one who'd lost someone. Let Dad finish, I want to hear it." This was the first that he'd said since he'd read the newspaper during the breakfast. It was so unfamiliar to hear him talking that way that the persons in the room couldn't help but being quiet. George wasn't that cool and he was terribly afflicted by the death of his twin-brother, which had made him serious and quite. Formerly loud and funny, he now got unsettled over yelling people, so he preferred listening to the explanations of his father than watching the just anger of the other ones.

Mr Weasley pressed his hands on his temples and massaged them. He needed some time to find the rights that wouldn't raise a new fight again. "Madame Pompfrey called for some healers after the battle. The deceased and injured people were examined and well, some of them weren't dead, they just looked like that. That's not unusual. No one examined him in the great hall after he fell to the ground. They'd also send for Shackelbolt and informed him, that "you-know-who" was still alive." Harry stared wide-eyed at him, something had come to his mind to talk the just said out of Mr Weasley: "But the curse, the curse fell back on him. I've seen it with my own eyes."

"Grazing shot, and he'd managed to weaken it." Bill commented shrugging. Fleur jerked round and stared at her husband in disbelief. Bill turned red, bent forward and looked as if he worked hard on getting invisible. "I was where too… we…. We brought him away. But we weren't allowed to say anything. Shackelbolt threaded us with sending us to Azkaban if we would. He wanted to avoid a panic as long as…"

"As long as we didn't know if he would survive. Right." His father confirmed. „Was in a

life-threatening state, of course. Lay a few weeks in a coma and Shackelbolt wanted to have peace in the country again. But as it come clear, that he wouldn't die… well, it's not sure how many death-eaters are still free. How many of them would creep back to him if they knew that their commander was still among them. So it was kept dark. Azkabans dementors like him and, that's more, who knows that they can do to someone who has no good thoughts and no soul, at all?"

So they brought him to where he was constantly watched. Besides, if people like Lucius Malfoy had heard that Vo….you-know-who has survived the battle and that they must testify against him… The rats had leaved the sinking ship, in droves. They'd disapparated in masses with bottles of poly-juice potion in their luggage. But we always wanted him to get a public conviction. And OF COURSE," Mr Weasley stopped for a moment to lower at Mrs Weasley "Kingsley forbid the hospital-stuff to tell anything" . Ron grasped for air, threw a glance at Hermione which revealed likewise disappointment as contempt. He wanted to launch into

angry protest as his father stifled "Don't look at me like this, Ron. Do you really want Hermione to sit in Azkaban?". Obviously, that Ron was stuck between a rock and a hard place. In the on hand he felt betrayed but on the other hand… "No, of course she shall not go to Azkaban", the a little unsettled appearing young man caved in, whereupon he averted his gaze from Hermione.

Harry wanted to stand his ground. „But what is this trial good for? This is a homicidal lunatic, an illness in a human shape. Why didn't you kill him on the spot? There he wasn't able to defend himself and the whole case had been settled. Why all this effort? Don't you know how dangerous he is as long he is alive?"

„Because lynch law is barbaric. Besides, it's a matter of our image in the world public. That means…money. If he's lawfully sentenced as a war criminal, we will get automatically money from other countries . Besides, then we can apply for aid money for the rebuilding and the

Victim compensation. But we need an ordinary sentenced massmurderer to get this funds." Mr Weasley explained s calm and fluently as if he'd heard this speech many times himself from other mouths.

Ron, who'd a moment ago looked as if he would give in, had now tears in his eyes. His eyes wandered to Harry who dragged with his clenched fist at something that seemed to hung invisibly around his neck. A gesture that should remind her of the horcrux they'd been wearing.

Ginny, deep-red in the face and already hoarse, cawed further accuses. "He wanted to kill us, he wanted to kill every person in this room. He had the burrow shadowed.."

"… and spied out your father in the ministry. It's nothing but a fortunate coincidence that we are still alive." Harry ended the sentence, who'd just remembered the day they sneaked hooded into the ministry to steal the Horcrux from Umbridge.

The unhappy Hermione couldn't do anything but shrugging, while she seemed to disappear more and more between her parents. "Yes, sure, I know this. Don't you thing I'm grateful that this did not happen? I've never said he was right. Yet… he was so ill and… should I've really let him lay there, doing nothing?"

The memories flooded over Ron again. Memories of the past years but also of the experiences Hermione had told him as she spoke about her job-ideas. He gagged tantalized as if he would drown at this thoughts. "Hermione, have you really touched this thing? It this really the guy you've told us about? The one you've washed and fed? You've really worried about that monster? Someone who'd nearly killed you in Godric´s Hollow? Someone who regards Muggles and mudbloods as dirt? You've spent your money for the man who'd ordered Dumbledore`s death? Who killed Harry's parents and tried to kill your best friends over and over again? Whose horcrux and evilness you felt yourself." Ron shook his head, arched his eye-brows and frowned at her. "You racked your brain over an insane massmurderer? Have you really forgotten everything? Did you forget Fred?" He pointed accusing at the empty chair by the side of George."

"No I haven't" Hermione contradicted fervidly and sobbed under her shock of hair. "What should I have done? I've told you how the hospital had treated him."

Harry banged his fist booming on the table. "RIGHTLY! DO YOU KNOW HOW OFTEN I´VE WATCHED HIM TORTURING OTHER PEOPLE? DO YOU REALLY BELIVE THAT ANYTHING THEY DID TO HIM WAS WORSE THAN THE THINGS HE DID TO HIS VICTIMS BEFORE?" Harry pointed at his chest and yelled rapidly. "I CAN´T FEEL COMPASSION! THIS IS NOT EVEN CLOSE TO THE THINGS HE DID HIMSELF!"

Hermione tried to ignore him, pleaded turned towards Ron for sympathy. "I just can't do that. I can't see someone every day and treat him like dirt. No matter what he'd done. I can't watch someone starving. I admit… I've got used to him but…he has no one but me, anymore."

Ron straightened up and eyeballed Hermione, who sunk between her parents as a picture of misery, full of nauseating. "He has no one but you? So…" silently and threatening, emphasizing every syllable „he - has – you?"

Hermione couldn't help, had to already to sob again. Help-seeking she looked around but found nothing but the repulse she'd heard in Ron's voice in the faces of the people who eye-balled her. Yet, she nodded. "Yes, he has me. No matter if you understand it or not." All, even Mr Weasley winced at this confession, widened their eyes and stared at the young woman who hurried to explain more. "Nevertheless, I am no traitor. I'd never approved anything he'd done and I haven't forgotten anything. But….seeing him every day… You'll come closer and…" she couldn't say more. The moment she spoke it out the room seemed to darken under a thick cloud cover. Hermione had said to much and the wrong. Ron got up, pushed his chair aside and paced slowly and threatening towards Hermione, where he planted himself before her, stood with his legs apart, drew himself up to his full height and spoke out what they all, considering their nauseated miens, thought. "So… he has you. And we" his pointed behind him to the other ones. "we have a new Bellatrix Lestrange. Great." Ron frown at her so bitterly that she wasn't even able to contradict. "So you got used to each other.. through all the aroma therapy, pink undies and card games you got closer? Tell me Hermione…. How close did he get to you?"

A heartbeat long Hermione believed she would die with humiliation, but her mother laid her arm protectively around Hermione's shoulder and drew her to her. "My daughter is a good girl. She took care of a mortally ill man and treated him humanly. That isn't betrayal, that's compassion. Do you really know nothing about this?" she snapped at the crowd.

Mr Granger, deliberately like always, smiled knowing to his wife and added lecturing. " What do you believe how many murders or rapists we had on our chairs? But we don't want to know it. If doctors would start , helping only the ones who'd deserved it, no one could ever feel safe again. Who deserves what and who doesn't, who can judge this? And who is ALLOWED to decide this?" he paused for s short while to make up his speech, then went on with utter conviction. "We help everybody who needs our help and that's it. This is our task. If we would begin with helping only the "good ones", we would all go down. YOU MOLLY" and all of a sudden Mr Granger was strict and cold. "you have killed a women, don't you?"

„BUT THAT WAS SELF-DEFENCE! SHE´D ATTACKED MY CHILD! THIS PEOPLE HAVE KILLED MY SON! SHOULD I HAVE WATCHED THEM KILLING MY DAUGHTER, TOO?" Mrs Weasley shouted hysterically in tears, stunned, anyone could blame her for this.

Mr Granger was still strict. „And this women? Didn't she have a mother who cries for her now? A husband who is a widower now? A sister who's grieving for her? Trust me, Molly, justice, the way you understand it, is dangerous and destructive. Don't get me wrong. I see why you've done it. You've defended your family. But our Hermione hasn't done something wrong. She wanted to help the victims of the war and so she did. Accept that the other side had victims, too. He may be a monster, but looking at it objectively, he needed help like all the other people in the hospital. She wasn't wild about this job, but shall I tell you something? I'm proud on her, because she hasn't resigned" his chest swollen with pride, Mr Granger pressed the silently whimpering, yet happy Hermione tightly to himself. Mrs Granger also puffed herself up. "The other people who wanted to work there… Their helpfulness was mostly nothing but vanity. They just wanted to get something from the resonating fame of the battles fighters. Wanted to be celebrated for their contribution. But our Hermione was courageous enough to do something she wouldn't get praised for. Something that wouldn't bring her fame but anger… cared selfless because it was needed. That's what good persons do. They help…"

Mrs Granger kissed her daughter on the forehead. Hermione's mouth trembled. Aglow with happiness, she gave her parents a grateful smile. She made to pick up courage again and found words to address the Wesley's, Fleur and Harry. "I'm so sorry about that, but I wasn't allowed to tell you anything. You wouldn't believe how terrible the last months had been. Every day worse than the other. I'd never approved his ideas and I would never help him carrying them out. I'd just took pains because all the people said that it would be a comfort to them if he would rue his doings. That's what I've tried."

„And… had it worked? Is he a good guy now and apologizes to us?" Harry sneered at her. The black-haired teenager shock slowly and convicted his head and continued lecturing her. "I can't believe that you are that naive Hermione. He's a master in manipulating people. That's Lord Voldemort. He's never sorry, he has no soul. He's just vile and that's all. Remember what Dumbledore told us? With all these horcruxes… he's not even able to feel like other persons. He's neither able to be sorry nor to feel grief. I'd been so often in his mind. Believe me… there's nothing but hate and anger."

Ginny, Ron and Fleur nodded agreeing. Mrs Weasley showed a patronizing smile and felt affirmed.

„YOU DON´T KNOW HIM,AT ALL!" Hermione yelled back desperately. „WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT HIM? ALL YOU KNOW IS WHAT DUMBLEDORE HAD TOLD YOU. WHAT HE TAUGHT YOU TO SEE, BUT THAT´S NOT EVERYTHING!"

She couldn't say more because the shouting Harry cut her off. "THAT MAY BE! PERHAPS YOU KNOW HIM IN A WAY I´VE NEVER SEEN HIM! BUT BELIVE ME, HERMIONE GRANGER!" he raised his finger and pointed at her as if he wanted to stab her with it "I ´VE SEEN KNOW MANY THINGS ABOUT HIM YOU DON´T YOU! OR YOU DON´T WANT TO KNOW OR TO REMEMBER! I´D WATCHED HIM KILLING AND TORTURING PEOPLE OVER AND OVER AGAIN! I´VE FELT WHAT HE´D FELT AND NO MATTER WHAT HE´D TOLD OR WHAT WITH HE´D DECEIVED YOU! THAT STILL DOESN´T CHANGE THE FACT THAT HE´S A CRUEL MONSTER WHO´D FELT NOTHING BUT JOY AND PRIDE AT HIS DOINGS! HE ISN´T ABLE TO FEEL ANYTHING ELSE AND THAT´S WHY YOU´RE SO DUMB, TRYING TO CHANGE HIM!"

Mrs Granger rose to speak again. "Well, so tell me, you savior of the wizard world. What had you done, if they'd put him to you?"

„I WOULD HAVE RESEIGNED! ON THE SPOT!" Harry shouted back. He'd jumped off his seat and thundered his fist so heavily on the table that the there standing cups fell down. Deep red in the face, heavily breathing and with filled with hate mien he was hardly recognizable .

Mrs Granger nodded with a faked approval, while she lighted a cigarette and took a deep drag. "Very well. You'd certainly be a good healer if you would only heal the ones who deserve it. But I guess, you wouldn't have many patients. There's always a reason to reject other people."

Ginny wanted to help her friend, smacked her palm angrily on the table-desk , showing more than clear that she'd preferred smacking the Grangers. "WE´RE NOT TALKING ABOUT MUNDUNGUS FLECTHER! THAT´S NOT A SMALL-TIME CIRIMIAL! THAT´S THE DARK LORD! THIS IS THE FOE! WE DON´T FRATERNISE WITH HIM! YOU CANNOT BE ON HIS AND ON OUR SIDE! THIS IS BETRAYAL AND, HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN, DIDN´T YOU ALSO SAY THAT WHERE´S NO WAY TO STOP THAN KILLING HIM?"Mrs Weasley pointed at her daughter, Fleur applauded while Bill sat pensively beside her, the hands folded in front of him on the table, swaying back and forth.

Hermione's parents didn't let her down. Mr Granger stood up from his chair, stepped aside and placed himself behind Hermione, his hands on her shoulders. "Are you not ashamed?" his eyes slid reproachfully from Ron over to Harry, back to Ron, while he patted his shivering daughter the shoulder. "Our Hermione risked her life for you. Not only the last year, over and over again."

Mr Granger loosened from Hermione, paced with a upraised hand through the room while pleading like a lawyer before the court. "Always stuck by you. Always on your side. And you've made fun of her because she'd been much to kind-hearted. What about S.P.E.W.? You've laughed about it. Overeagerly she did all she could to fight for Dumbledore`s side. Was nearly stabbed by this death-eater, yes…" he gestured dramatically with upraised hands. "Yes….by the command of this man. Of course, but is hear anyone who'd argued he is innocent? NEVER!" Full of conviction the tall man with the slightly graying but still thick hair shock his head.

The Weasleys watched him disapprovingly, but didn't object. Mrs Granger shrugged stunned. "To be honest, I don't see the problem. Where exactly did she commit betrayal as she fought on your side?" Challengingly , she arched her eye-brows, not looking to the unsettled appearing crown but strictly to Harry who shouldn't get a change to chicken out of answering.

He huffed, wriggled about on his chair, took his glasses of and drummed with his forefinger on the table-desk, while he explained with a painful, pressed voice. "Yes, certainly. Hermione has, during the past years… nobody wants to contradict that…" pensively gazes fell from the young man on Hermione, which was also eyeballed by Ron, but with an aching mien. The black-haired mans eyes wandered away from Hermione, to an unspecified point somewhere, outside the window as he continued. "Nobody said she'd fought actively for Voldemorts side. But this man is our enemy. One doesn't want to know someone like this better. One doesn't like to come closer to someone like this. One is not friendly or helpful to such a man. He doesn't deserve it."

„Then tell me, where's the difference between good and bad people if the good persons distinguish themselves with being unfriendly, condemning and refusing to help."

Mr Granger asked to consider from his corner.

Ron appeared nearly as unhappy as Hermione, slowly he found words to express his disappointment. "But that wasn't all. She didn't simply take care of him like a nurse. I mean, she bought him clothes and food. FROM HER OWN MONEY!" That seemed to be especially hard to Ron, he narrowed his eyes. „scarifies her free time and did who knows not what she else with him."

„I haven't done anything with him." Hermione defended herself fervidly against the allegations she heard from Ron during the last months. Allegations that weren't made up out of thin air. But Ron didn't know and he never should. "I cared for him because I was sorry for him. He was mortally ill, nearly starved and paralyzed. Not even 100 pounds with 6 feet 3". Hermione sobbed but continued, pointing at herself, with utter conviction. "I can't watch anyone starving and I'm proud of myself, that I've kept so much humanity being not so cold to differ between good and bad people in such things. Besides, I don't believe that anybody is nothing but evil."

„He is", Ginny objected, who'd also got up to get something to drink. Her voice was still rattling and hoarse, but calm again. "What you've told us..:" The Weasley-daughters eyes were rather sympathizing than angry. As if Hermione was a poor lunatic. "You've played games with him, you've talked to him as if he was a normal man. As if you were friends. Gosh, Hermione. You can't be the friend of a this man and our friend at the same time. It's like you're saying that all the things he'd done weren't that bad." Ginny paused for a moment. Silent tears run down her face. "It's like you're saying it's not so bad that George and all the other ones had died. That's what we resent you. And why? What did you expect?"

Hermione sighed, how could she defend her therapy-efforts against so much concentrated dislike. She wasn't even sure if her parents understood her or if they their just as a matter of principle on her side. The palms pressed on her eyes, she grimaced in pain. Every further thought ached like the blow of a hammer in her head. And it was terribly embarrassing. But if they'd condemned her anyway, she could at least explain to them why she did what she'd done. "Well," she sighed and her ears turned read. Her voice high and insecure. "I thought… I've already explained it. This man isn't stupid and if I have to see him every day… I think one should concede a certain amount of human dignity to everyone. And well, I also thought that I could might use to time we spent together to appeal to his conscience. That he's able to see, to understand a tiny bit of what he'd really done to all to everyone. He's intelligent enough to understand it. Is that a bad plan? Helping him to rue his doings?

„But that's impossible. We know it… Dumbledore had explained it to us. He isn't able anymore to feel such things. Not after all these horxruxes." Harry answered calmly. „Dumbledore, even he, who'd always seen the good in everyone. Even he didn't thought it is possible. You must understand this. You're fooling yourself.". His voice had a kind, lecturing tone. Obviously he regarded her as a stupid, naive child. Hard to decide if he wasn't right.

Hermione's forefinger shot up as if being in a lesson. "Yes, right. DUMBLEDORE didn't believe it is possible. All he wanted was to fight him. As if this would have helped. Was it useful? No… You have to admit this. Dumbledore wasn't more successful than me. So why not trying something else? Molly" Hermione clasped Mrs Weasleys soft hand."Is it his really wrong? That he shall be sorry for the things he'd done?"

Mrs Weasley smiled to the first time this evening. "No, of course not. Love, but isn't it an unwinnable fight? This man is a liar with a talent for manipulating people. If he'd been friendly to you, well, he faked it. He uses you and takes advantage of your kindness. I'm sure you meant well, yet it is naive and dangerous to deal with him."

The brunette shrugged stunned. „Maybe. But yet, i cannot make it worse. And sometimes I believe that I've made him really pensively. Something has changed, I'm sure. I don't know it, but I believe it."

„But don't you think the best way to show him what he'd done is to make him experience the same?" Mrs Weasley coughed and pressed her hand at her mouth, but made to speak again immediately. "He shall feel what pain is, that's the only way."

Mrs Granger laughed bitterly. "Oh sure. That's a perfect way. It's a could idea to show him that violence is wrong if you're doing the same." Her face grimaced repulsively. "You know what he will think? Might makes right…".

Charley couldn't contain himself and chimed in to help his mother. "What do you think he would do, if he was free and saw YOU" his head jerked towards her "alone in a street. Don't fool yourself. He hates mudbloods. He disdains muggles and mudbloods as well. He'd just pronounced that he thinks all people like you are useless and inferior. Have you never thought about this? Don't you know you're defending a man who'd kill you unhesitatingly?"

Hermione couldn't do anything but shrugging at this truth. Yes , certainly. She'd asked herself exactly this question thousands of times. How much affection were left if he wouldn't need her anymore? If he were free, what would he do then? Nevertheless… she was convinced that her efforts weren't in vain.

„I'm not stupid, but yet I believe that he'd changed." Hermione contradicted weary, although she rather hoped than believed this objection.

„ I've heard something else" Mrs Weasley tossed her the Evening Prophet „Looks like he had a great time. Seems he'd really enjoyed the trial, so far. He threatened and laughed at his victims?" Mrs Weasley got a little paler "Is proud of his murders? Proud of making our life's a misery?" in proof of this Mrs Weasley wagged the newspaper before Hermione's nose as if she'd liked to throw it back in her face.

„I think he was high. Certainly they gave him verita-serium and a lot of drugs as well. He has to take them constantly since two weeks because… he become insane. Went totally crazy because of the trial. They…they will…" Hermione wasn't able to speak on. Thick tears run down her cheeks. She sobbed and tried to ignore the appalled faces who watched her disbelievingly. "They will execute him. That's for sure." Hermione buried her head in her hands. Thick curls fell over her face and covered her nearly overflowing eyes.

"Are you sorry for this?" Ron burst out with disbelief.

„Yes!" Hermione sobbed even louder. Her mother hugged her, but didn't seem to know what she could say on this confession.

Hermione wiped her tears with trembling hands off her face. Her throat ached and she felt sick. It was so terribly humiliating. The way they looked at her made her feel as if she should feel ashamed for what she was else going to say "I was never on his side. I would never do something the death-eaters did. Don't you know that?"

The addressed persons shared unsettled looks. Stunned they looked into each other faces. Mute doubts and reproaches wandered to her. Ron stretched his arm out, not far, and touched her ell-bow with his fingertips. "I truly want to believe you. But… all those secrecies and the way he'd looked at you." Ron shivered and even Harry grimaced as they remembered the unfamiliar expression they saw as Voldemort noticed Hermione. "And now you're sitting her, crying, because something happens we all have wanted to happen. Haven't we? I don't get it."

„I don't get it, either." the young woman moaned between her curls. Her face was totally covered behind a wall of brown hair. She wanted it like what, she liked to be protected. "That's all so terrible to me. I had to lie to you and I knew what you would think about me. I… I didn't wish it to happen but I got used to him. I mean… I've seen him every day over months. And… he was in such a dreadful condition as I began. I had to work so hard to get him healthy again, till we could talk in a normal way and… and now… now I've reached so much and now they'll simply come to take him away from me." Trembling hands heaved her brown shock of hair aside and a splotchy, swollen up face surfaced.  
Nobody else talked. They all looked bashful, downright embarrassed. Didn't know what to say.

Mr Granger tried to contribute something comforting. Walked slowly to her and stroke over her dark curls. "I think you've burdened yourself more than you're able to bear, Hermione. You're a much too kind-hearted person to watch someone dying."

„Is it sure that he will die?" Harry asked alienated whether he should sound hopeful or tactful.

„Yes!" decided Mr Weasley continuing to speak about the things he knew. "Sure as death!" he looked at Hermione and sighed. "Absolutely sure. Shackelbolt decided it a long time ago. No one could ever feel safe again, he he'd stay alive. They only took him with them to sentence him. Even the day he will be executed is certain."

„Mmmhhhh" Mr Granger sat himself alongside his wife again, curled his lips and threw, while supporting his upper body on the table with his elbows, disdainful glances around.

"Mmmhhh" he hummed again. "Al least, that's a certain way to obviate further murders. Why don't we kill everyone? Perfectly, no one would be left to commit any crimes."

An argument, suiting just fine to Mrs Weasley. The short, but fleshy hand with pink stubby fingers was clenched to a fist and tipped, with arduously suppressed force on the table. Evidently that she'd loved to toss him heavy objects but restrained herself from doing this because she needed to show how civilized she was, she only this gesture of anger was left to her to get rid off her rage.

"If you have any better ideas… feel free . But I can assure you of this. It's impossible to change him. He'd been showing for decades that he isn't able to anything else but cruelty. You don't know that, you don't understand, because you're muggles. He will never stop, it's the only way to kill him. Healing is impossible."

„Certainly. After killing him, healing is impossible." The graying-man gave back, laconically. "I see, this method is final. But, if I dare asking, had any one ever tried to give therapy to him? How can you be so sure if nobody has every tried it?"

Harry burst out with anger, remembering to all the conversations he had with his mentor. Impossible for him to leave Mr Grangers objection hanging in the air. "Dumbledore HAS talked insistently to . He knew him and Dumbledore believed that…".

„DUMBLEDORE HAS HATET HIM!" Hermione's shrill voice cut her Friend short. „You don't know anything about him. You don't know what were possible" she insisted. Her voice was broken, the face covered with tears but also with anger and defiance at the never doubted speeches of an old man. „Dumbledore has never really tried to talk to him. He'd lectured and condemned him, that's not the same. No one has ever tried to converse with him. Either they followed him blindly or felt contempt for him. Regarded him as a god or a devil, nothing between. No one had ever regarded him as a normal human being. Isn't it impossible to create a realistic self-perception if the rest of the world restrains to do that either? No one had ever treated him like a normal man, so how could he realize that he's just a man, too?"

Harry arched an eye-brow, obviously he didn't agree with Hermione who'd gone crazy in his opinion. "Human? He?" the smirk playing on his lips was self-pleasing. One more time he showed to her that she was nothing than a illusionary do-gooder to him. "I doubt he liked being a normal man, at all. Forgotten? He always wanted to be "special"."

„So you're agreeing with me." but it was much to sad to Hermione to be happy about her triumph. So she spoke on, wearily. "You've just said, he isn't able to be anything but evil. No you're saying he doesn't WANT being anything else. That's not the same. And I'm going to tell you now why he wants to be evil."

„So shoot. Tell my, Hermione-I-know-it-all-Granger." The addressed commented, clearly thinking that his clever school-mat was wrong, this time.

„Because no one allows him to be something else." Hermione got excited. "Have you ever thought about how difficult it is to change if nobody wants you to change? No, even worse!" the words sputtered hasty out of Hermione's mouth to express to inner conflict she'd been fighting over the past months.

„You don't want to be him anything but a beast. You can't bear the possibility that he is still a human being. Only by condemning him you can feel as truly good persons. You're only right if he is wrong. Right!" the sarcasm let her voice become stronger "You're the knights of justice. God's warriors in Dumbledore`s jihad. That's what you are."

Hermione's forefinger raised threatening, pointing at all the people around. "An old man who meant well, yet that doesn't mean he was infallible. But no one of you has ever doubted Dumbledore's decisions. You'd shut your brain off and believed everything he told you. You're not better than the death-eaters."

„Hermione, that's our house and you are our guest. But that's enough, now" Charley Weasley cut her off. But Hermione wasn't done. Should they throw her out, that were just another sign of the good-guys inability to accept criticism. "You're killing people, only because it's easy and final. But that doesn't mean that this is the only solution. I" her forefinger shot back to her breast "I was with him every day and I tell you that he is still man. A man who ´d done terrible, gruesome things, but still a man. He is, he is…" Hermione got more and more upset, tears filled her eyes again and she breathed quickly „.. such an evil man. I think you don't even know HOW evil he really is. But… that's not all." She shock her head. „Not everything about him." Hermione banged her fist on the table and grimaced in disgust. "But nobody likes to notice this because nobody wants to hear it. You don't know what he might could have been."

She took a deep breathe and went on with a thin, weak voice. "I'm in a therapy, you know?" she pressed her lips together and lowered her eyes.

"Hermione!" Mrs Granger moved a little aside and stared appalled at her daughter

„It's too much. I can't bear being caught between all stools. No matter what I'm going to do, I will be wrong. This is so terrible and I couldn't tell you anything."

Imploring she appealed to her friends. "Death all around. Murders wherever I look and it never occurred to anybody that they could try something else. Not even the "good"-side." It took a moments till the addressed persons realized that they were meant.

The young women appeared unutterably bitter as she tried making her ethical-dilemma clear. "It's enough to drive one mad. And you won't believe how awful it is being with someone who's so vile on the one, but so human, sometimes almost friendly, on the other hand. That was the worst." Her eyes closed as she brought the past months with him back to her mind. Months which bordered on experienced schizophrenia in their paradox nature.

"Do you really think it's not hurting me, to get so close to someone who'd killed my friends? Do you really believe I wouldn't cry for all of his victims? It is unutterable gruesome to know this. I can't get sleep since months because of all those pictures in my head. But this is why it is so important to deal with him. He shall understand what he has done. He hadn't listened to me, if I'd attacked him with reproaches. That was all in wished. " Hermione straightened herself, more poised again, even her audience still didn't seem to be convinced.

„Do you believe me at least, that I'm not a traitor? That it was all well-meant. That I only wanted to make the best of a bad job, because I believe that remorse makes more sense than another murder?"

One did not say anything. One had to think about this. It was head-aching complicated. But Hermione's accusers appeared rather pensively than angry, at least. Ron rose to speak and seized Hermione's hand. „ I do believe you, Hermione. I believe it was well-meant. Yet, I don't think you're right. Some persons are just evil and we will never be sure if he stays alive. He is and will ever be evil."

The smile playing on Hermione bloodless lips was wearily. "That's the difference between us."

Mrs Weasley sighed noisy. „From your mouth to God's ear , love. No I don't believe that your attempts were successful either. But you have a heart of gold and it was well-meant. So no fight about that anymore. Let's stop talking about it. I think it would be the best if you're going to bed, now. You'll have to be there again early in the morning."

So this was how the evening ended. Not really a reconciliation but a more than a ceasefire. One believed in the other ones intension, even though no one was convinced by the arguments.

Basically, Hermione didn't believe herself either. Not after this day… nothing was left than hope.

xXx

The Daily Prophet published a special edition just the same night. Although the pressman got the first information's only two days ago, they made to release an terrifying 400 pages-opus. Who didn't know the Dark Lord? Somehow a collection of all older articles or never published reproaches they now dared to show the world.

A short glance to the head-line „Massmurderer" and „free us from him" was enough for Hermione to know what she didn't felt like reading the news-paper today.

Every day she was in the ministry. It was harrowing. Not only the countless life's and destinies he had destroyed, also his behavior which had more in common with a pup- crawl than a hearing in a trial. It was repulsive.

Certainly he got drugs. His mood was much to frolicsome in view of the occasion. His eyes appeared hooded before they got covered. He burst out in laughter in the most unsuitable moments, commented never without scorn or sneer, yawned and slumped down on his chair.

Calmatives, moodlifters, neuroleptics , morphia… probably an awful lot of verita-serum, too. Probably enough to sedate a whole flock of elephants, the way he described all his crimes in detail and fool length.

Seemingly they gave him too much on the fourth day. After the lunch-break, his "watchers" had to catch him to a few times as they brought him back, because he'd stumbled over his own feet. He burst out in shrill laughter as Shackelbolt admonished him not to laugh at his victims, seemed to have problems following questions and gave not a single answer which mad even a little sense.

As the totally alienated and anxious appearing Rodolphus Lestrange told how his former master used to torture and execute his own followers, the Lord himself fell peacefully asleep.

Maybe it was better this way. Wasn't he already a dead man in the eyes of his judges? Nothing could put them off doing this. Hermione closed her eyes in embarrassment, but knew it would be better for him being drugged to the eye-balls, too stoned for clear thoughts, than realizing that really happened around him.

Better, it was better they saw him like this than the way Hermione had seen him during the last weeks. An angry, frightened nervous wreck. Yet she asked herself if the overdose they gave him was might an answer to another hysterical fit he had during the lunch-break.

Anyway, Hermione could only hope that his behavior was a result of drugs and that he didn't really enjoy his very own horror show.

Every time the glassy, hooded eyes came in, they searched for Hermione. She smiled to him, before his eyes got covered. He needed to see her, needed to know that she was there, than he was able to bear it.

However, it wasn't sure if Hermione was able to bear it. The frowns she earned from all the other persons in the hall made clear, that they regarded her as a younger Bellatrix-Lestrange version.

But, however, she'd promised to be with him to bitter end. Not a long time till then…

Ron was always with her, alongside her, but never said anything to her. He accepted her presence, but he did not understand her. All the questions he didn't dare to ask frightened him. Actually she felt sorry for him, that wasn't easy to him too. Things hadn't changed to him and Harry. But for Hermione… but as long he did not chase her away it was bearable. So she could still hope things would get better again between them.

After…

Hermione didn't want go to the pronouncement of judgment to see the celebrating crowd, but she'd promised the accused to be with him.

Today, the day of the sentence, prevailed an almost pre-Christmas mood the courtroom. Solemnly, cheerful, excited and full of face appeared the faces Hermione had to see. They looked like little children, waiting for the present giving on Christmas. It was disgusting.

If she wouldn't understand all of them, she'd surely slapped every one of them in their smiling faces.

Today was the last day of the trial and only two hearings were scheduled. Professor McGonagall, the longtime order member and of course Harry Potter.

Particularly, Harry. So much compassion flooded the room as Harry began to speak, that Hermione had nearly vomited.

Full of grudge, she listened to Dumbledore's, passed on to Harry, assumptions and orders. If Dumbledore would have with them now and requested Harry to start another horcrux-hunt, Hermione would had certainly given him a kick in the pants.

No, it was bad to think something like that. Dumbledore had the common good in his mind. In view of Tom Riddles doings, a common good was only without him possible. Nevertheless, she didn't want to hear it.

As expected, Lord Voldemort corroborated Harry Potters testimony. Without regret, motionless.

Oh sure, Harry was right. He wanted do these things. He enjoyed his doings and was proud of them. He laughed at the shocked audience and gabbed so amused as if the murder of Harry's parents had been a funny joke and he expected the audience now to laugh with him about this. But of course no one laughed, the wizangamott decided to close the argument instead and retired to deliberate.

The hall was even more crowded than before. Every seat was taken without exception, because the witnesses were back in the room. A great amount of pressman were also invited to attended the sentencing. Rita Skeeter appeared very unpleased because she did not sit alone anymore and had to share her press-row with numerous other witches and wizards, all armed with feathers and note pads.

White flashes of countless cameras enlightened the courtroom and Rita tried to daunt them all with her deadly glances. Changeless.

Xenophilius Lovegood, looking like an oversized banana, was also one of Rita's disliked neighbors and scribbled with trembling fingers his impressions on his pink note pad. Luna sat alongside him, but she neither regarded Harry, Ron nor Hermione. Father and daughter were lost in their memories of the time, as the death-eaters tried to break Xenophilus of the bad habit to write pro-Harry articles... and abducted Luna.

A short moment Luna's and Hermione eyes met, then the blond grimaced painfully and lowered her eyes again in order to stare on her fingers. Why did all of Hermione's friends have to know? If Ron had told some details on Hermione job to Luna, Neville and all the other ones at Hogwarts?

Neville sat on his grandmothers side a few rows away from them… and ignored her. If they also regarded her as a younger Bellatrix?

Poor Neville… she'd seen him so often visiting his parents. The sad but warm expression in his eyes then he was with them almost broke Hermione's heart. How could HE understand why she was able to go to HIM, after being with Neville in his parents sickroom. She didn't even understand it herself.

The squeaking of the door interrupted Hermione's pangs of conscience. Aurors walked in and surrounded the empty middle of the room, where the dock was, again. Shields were laid over the judge-loge and the audiences seats again. A tensed murmur went through the room.

Hermione shivered, her hands became sweaty. Her head was reeling and the room started to spin. A painful prickle crept from her feet over her legs, the breast up to her hands. Her breathing went shallow.

After the aurors had nodded to Shackelbolt and the door opened again. All of a sudden, there was a – everything went dark as Hermione realized that she'd just thought "dead silence"- in the room.

The aurors spoke the whisper-charm so the audience appeared like mute fishes in a aquarium as they opened and closed their mouths to speak with their neighbors.

Circled by other aurors, handcuffed, with blindfold, Lord Voldemort was guided back to the room, pulled to his seat and placed in front of the judge-loge. The aurors removed the blindfold. He should be able to face his destiny. Hermione felt sick to her stomach with nervousness.

The charges and judges stood up. A solemnly sparkle shone in their eyes but also insecurity. They looked like an angelic choir. Straight, solemnly faces, gratification in their eyes and justice in their minds they dared trying something new what might made them insecure, yet they felt poised to do it.

Kingsley Shackelbolt, the chief judge stood in the middle of the front row and held a parchment up high, clearly visible to the all people in the audience , lowered it again, bend his head and his eyes flew over the parchment. The sentence.

A decided nod, a short glance to the accused then he started to read with a deep, sonorous, magical boosted voice, which consumed all the other noises in the room.

"In the name of the people judgment is pronounced as follows: Tom Marvolo Riddle. You're found GUILTY as charged of all points." It had been certainly very loud in the hall, if the whispering-charm hadn't made it impossible. But Hermione noticed how all the eyes around her started to sparkle at this. Enlightened by all the torches on the walls, shone hundreds of wet with tears faces which beamed with mute joy, hoping for their salvation. Shackelbolt cleared his voice, looked at Voldemort who waited frozen, without any noticeable emotion, for what his judge would say next. To the first time during the whole trial he seemed to be absolutely sober.

He was totally motionless but Hermione noticed, she could see it from her point, that Tom Riddles right hand twitched a bit. He was nervous.

The tall, black man took a deep breath and revealed with his steady voice what they all hoped and waited for.

"In view of the severity of guilt, the inhumanity and the cruelness of your doings, we decided to impose the maximum penalty, even though this hadn't been done for 80 years. Tom Marvolo Riddle, you're sentenced to death . Your execution takes place on the following day at 12 o'clock in the death-chamber of the ministry. The court is closed."

The whisper-charm was broken by the blow of the hammer. Tempestuous shouts and jubilations prevailed the air. The people around Hermione jumped up from their seats, cried, laughed and hugged each other, shouted with elation, shook hands und kissed each other.

Hermione did not hear them. Didn't hear what Ron, Harry and all the other people around her did or shouted. Her thoughts wandered off from the celebrating crowd. She'd forgotten to feed the cat in the morning. With semi-closed eyes she noticed that the corners of Voldemort`s mouth trembled, apart from that he seemed to be frozen.

Then Hermione fainted.

xXx

Cold and hard. That was the first Hermione sensed as she woke up again. Under her, it was cold and hard. Maybe flagstones. Something wet hit her face. The wetness run in thin lines down her face, tickled her ears and, she coughed because she couldn't breathe, into her nose.

Dizzy, she opened her eyes. She was not still in the courtroom but in the ladies' toilet. Above her she made a sink out. Voices got louder, yet she was only aware of dull murmuring around her. Slowly the massage wandered from her skin to her brain that someone stroke her.

CLAP

This time she felt it clearly. Someone had slapped her face. Schemes got clearer, voices got louder. Ron sat next to her.

"That's a ladies` toilet." Hermione heard herself saying with a strange sounding voice. Some other voices laughed. Ron lay his arm around her and helped her to sit up straight. He'd stroked her. Harry and Ginny were with him. They smiled but appeared a bit worried too.

„Are you okay?" asked the black-haired who kneeled on the other side next to her.

„Yes!" lied Hermione. „Help me up. I'm feeling a bit dizzy. What has happened?" she added a little blabbering. The three clasped her and heaved her back on her feet. She staggered a bit but then managed to stand straight.

„You're keeled over after the judgment was pronounced. The people have romped and it was stifling. We thought we should better bring you in here, here's fresh water", the insecure appearing Ginny explained to her. But actually all three looked as if you wouldn't have a clue what they should do now with Hermione.

Ron harrumphed. He bent down to pick her wand up. Seemingly they took it with them as they left the courtroom. „By the way, a tall, black man spoke to us as we went out. He said his name is Ben. You would know him." Worried he searched her eyes. He was tensed, obviously were was something else that worried him. "He said you were allowed to go to the hospital tonight. You'd talked that over before. You can go to him, if you like. Shackelbolt permitted him to leave the ministry during the night. They..they will come for him at 11h tomorrow. Do you want...," it was unutterable hard to him to talk with her about this, his voice was timidly and got softer. "You really want to go to him? I mean…tomorrow it's over. He's dead, anyway. Your job is done, so they don't we forget everything and celebrate together?"

Harry poked Ron ungentle in the rips. Ginny's empty face filled with anger for a moment. But Ron recognized that Hermione didn't felt like celebrating, as he saw her eyes filled with tears and her suddenly ashy turning skin. Ron rubbed embarrassed his aching rips and mumbled almost inaudible. "I meant… I thought… You know. It's over now and all is well again. We can live on like before…as usual. You know?"

„But I'll go there, anyhow." Hermione hissed angrily to the pale turning Ron as she found words again. You can celebrate on your own. I'll come to you tomorrow, when…" an horrifying moment it became aware to her that was going to be at 12h "you're done celebrating." The a moment ago loud voice, now finished fading.

Her three friends exchanged meaningful glances, then nodded to her. "Shall we pick you up?" Hermione nodded silently.

"When?" Ron asked painfully. Doubts and terrible assumptions were written in his face.

„A bit after 11h, I'll have to…clean up." Hermione tried hard not losing her poise but a tiny tear sneaked into the corner of her eye.

Everything was over tomorrow. The normal course of life would start again. "Do you really want to stay with him all night?" Ron spluttered appalled with eyes wide open.

The young brunette was only managed to shrug at this question, yet she nodded. "I've promised him to come. But…Ron," she tried to think straight to appease the three persons who stared at her as if she went mad. „Don't worry. We'll only sit and talk. I mean" Hermione took a deep breath and averted her gaze "he's going to be executed tomorrow. Do you really think he will… if he never tried to before?"

It was clearly noticeable, that Ron doubted this statements sincerity to the core. His mouth trembled and Hermione believed to hear an aspirated "Tomorrow… all over". He nodded and hugged her. "Okay. 11h. We'll wait before the hospital."

„I want to talk to him." Harry broke the moment of reconciliation. Ron and Hermione let go of each other in astonishment, stared at Harry and his also astonished appearing girl-friend Ginny.

„This man knows more about my past as anyone else. We've shared a soul. So many things were running through my mind in the last weeks. Things I need, I MUST know. He's the only one who can give me answers." Harry hurried to explain. He spoke fast and in a strange high tone. If he wouldn't hurry and dared to beg for what he desired, it would be to late because he already felt his courage leaving him. "I'm begging you, Hermione. You'll go there tonight. I'll come with you under the invisibility-cloak. One hour… that's all I want. I truly want," it was clearly visible how hard it was to overcome his demurs "want to clear some things. I don't want to cause trouble. But I'd surely go mad if I'd always had to think that I had the chance to talk with him about these matters but never did."

Silence was in the room, nothing was audible than the „drip-drip-drip" of the leaking water tap. Thousand demurs run through Hermione's head . Far to much to deal with them. That's why she nodded. „Okay… so…8 o'clock. Let's meet before the entrance hall. Stay under the invisibility-cloak. But he won't be happy to see you." Her eyes darkened at this thought. What would her child, teacher, sentences to death friend say, if she'd shove him Harry Potter right under his "nose" during his last night? "Harry, promise me to behave. No matter how much you hate him. He'll be executed tomorrow. Don't make it worse."

No matter if her friends would think this was silly, but Hermione still wanted to protect her… whatever. But nobody grimaced, ridiculed her or appeared shocked. "Yes, Hermione." Harry answered relieved, nodded friendly and appeased her with his words. "I only want to ask him some objective questions. I'll go when I did this. I don't want to make trouble."

The tears which filled her eyes again, every single of them was a stab with a knife into Ron's heart, she could barley hold them back. She didn't want to talk. Just wanted to go home to rest bit, waiting for the evening. So they left… through the rejoicing crowd. Ron guided Hermione who'd closed her eyes and blocked her ears.

The least she wanted to hear now was joy. She hated this people to the core. Every one of them…because she felt sympathy for them.


	22. In the lumberroom

**First of all: a big kiss to the very kind, unnamed person who translated this chapter for me *snog***

** kat:** NOW :o) But the next chapter will take some time

** Luth:** I don´t want him to die either, but this is a real difficult situation and i don´t suppose that anyone would free him voluntary

** Brezel:** The Weasleys aren´t fair, maybe... but it´s hard for them, too. I think they need some time, they´ve heard it just a few hours ago. Don´t forget that... after all these years of fear, loss and hate. Maybe it would be more merciful to allow Voldemort to commit suzide, but this story is beyond mercy

** Loopy:** Wait... won´t tell you too much. You´ll know in chap23 if Voldemort will die or not

** Lulu:** Right...but it´s an inner and outer battle (does this phrase exist?). And Hermione has to fight it all alone, against everyone. It´s almost breaking her

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**_Author's note:_**

**_Voldemort and his room are magically monitored. Imagine a map of the hospital, similar to the Marauder's Map. It wouldn't be useful to Voldemort to steal the invisibility cloak because he would still be identified on the hospital map. All doors are enchanted and an alarm-system monitors him all the day. So, if managed to get OUT of the room, the alarm would actuate immediately, an army of armed Aurors would set out to seize him. In addition, a ban over the doors would start to fire unforgivable curses at him if he would make it to the door that leads upstairs._**

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**Chapter 22: In the lumber-room**

The door opened and Hermione walked slowly into the room that was no more than dimly lit by the silvery moonlight drawing eerie shadows on the wall. She slowed down intentionally to prevent the Aurors notice that Harry, under his invisibility cloak, was sneaking past them into the room.

Already in the daylight the atmosphere of the room was unwelcoming but now, during the night, it resembled more than ever a dark lumber-room. It did not look like a dungeon either, no, the latter would still have offered a certain dignity or solemnity. This room here had the air of a vacant lumber-room where things were stowed away that were useless or meant to be handed over to oblivion.

Voldemort, still dressed in his black robes, stood in the room with his back turned towards her, his hands folded behind his back, staring out of the basement window. Hermione had to climb on a chair to be able to look outside but his head was level with the top edge of the window. The door slammed behind them with a crash. As if coming back from trance, Voldemort winced and turned around to face her.

"There you are. I have been waiting for you. I was already concerned …. but now you are here", said the tall man, whose sallow skin seemed to shine gloomily in the darkness, as did the moonlight that fell in. He was noticeably happy to see her.

Although Hermione could not make out his face distinctly, she still was sure that he smiled at her.

"I did tell you that I would come", she reassured immediately. He must have worried, indeed, that she might abandon him.

Somewhat perplexed, the prisoner noticed that Hermione was still standing next to the door, keeping aloof and making no attempt to draw nearer. So he drew up, stopped a few steps in front of the girl and, with both hands, reached out for her to draw closer.

Hermione felt strangely miniature and lost with his look lingering on her seeming to wait for her to say something comforting. With embarrassment she noticed that Harry was standing next to her watching this bizarre moment of intimacy between his nemesis and Hermione. She could not look into his eyes, looked away, down to her hands that she had folded in front of her on her lap.

From the corner of her eyes she watched as the invisibility cloak was pulled away with a jerk and, next to her, Harry seemed to appear out of the blue.

Voldemort's body stiffened immediately while he sucked in the air through his teeth with a hissing noise. His facial expression, having been relieved and nearly elated one second ago, froze in an instant. The softly gleaming eyes turned into glowing coals that seemed to pierce Harry full of suspicion and loathing. His hands that had been reaching out full of hope just a moment ago were now weakly dangling down on both sides again.

The entire room seemed to freeze within seconds and everything seemed to fade into a blur. The cold greyish moonlight, faintly illuminating the room, fell onto the two men who seemed to fill the entire large room with their slender bodies, their presence being so powerful that it seemed to force each and every perception of other things out of Hermione.

The mood-flowers' deep-blue glow added a frosty coldness to this scenario, a freezing chill that may well be sensed in an igloo, too.

With nerves all on edge, motionless but ready to jump at any moment, both men stood face to face and stared at each other. Even a dropping hair would have broken through the overwhelming, anticipating silence like rolling thunder.

"I want to talk to you", demanded Harry with a tinge that Hermione found perplexingly self-confident. She knew Voldemort, and he was bound to perceive Harry's presence as an incredible betrayal. During the precarious moment in which he had revealed emotions in Hermione's presence, he must have felt paraded, allowing the enemy to watch it in concealment.

She shook off her petrification and approached him with folded arms. With each step she took the heels of her shoes thundered on the stone floor like hammer blows in the suffocating silence filling the room.

Voldemort ignored her, his loathing gaze still lingered on the person whom he had desired to kill during all those years, but now would outlive him.

He is bound to believe that Harry wants to ridicule him, Hermione thought full of sorrow.

She felt rather queasy, for her "fosterling" was bound to believe that she had betrayed him, and also because her best friend now had to witness how close she had become with his nemesis.

Tenderly, her hand met his arm and soothingly ran over the smooth, black material of his robe. A bit nearer still, and she was so close to him that she nearly touched his robes when she put her second hand tenderly on the stomach while Voldemort still looked over her head, motionless like a marble statue.

"He wants to talk to you. It won't take long"; Hermione tried to explain.

"We", a worried gaze fell onto the alienated Harry, "we still have all night to talk.

Hermione rested her head against his chest and could feel his heartbeat through the satin while she clutched her arms around his waist. "He just wants to ask a few things about his parents and then he'll leave. I did promise you that I would stay with you. I won't leave together with him", the young woman whispered gently, almost tenderly into the man's ear. The beseeched man made no move, he stayed motionless as he was at their first encounter in the hospital. Nothing about him revealed that he did even notice the little body that hugged him tenderly.

Her gaze fell on Harry again who watched with sheer horror how his best friend hugged the man whom both of them had wanted to kill in a joint effort not long ago, and how she seemed to whisper tender words to him.

No matter what, Hermione would still have decades to clarify things. But the dying man she sensed to close to herself, the man she would not be able to sooth again tomorrow at the same time. This man had priority now.

Harry bit his lips, closed his eyes for a moment as if involved in an inner fight, he seemed to make an effort to ignore the picture that presented itself before his eyes, and to postpone all the questions that doubtlessly ran through his mind in this moment. He obviously had seen the point that time was running short and that it was crucial to find out a number of other things.

Again, he took a breath and started out: "I have come only because I need to ask you a few questions. You have controlled by whole life. You have knowledge of things about my past that no other person on this earth will be able to answer. He straightened while he added in a firm voice: "I think, you owe me that. I just want to get a few answers and then I'll leave. Today, under the given circumstances … nothing else should matter. Only answers", he added in an almost pleading tone.

The tall prisoner still looked daggers at the smaller, younger man who nonetheless stood upright and poised. Then life seemed to return into his body. He relaxed a bit and one of his slacked arms curled around Hermione, looking down on her for a short moment. His attention focused on Harry again, and to Hermione's immense relief, he nodded. "Very well, I agree. I will tell you all I know."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and detached from her­… well, what was he? A friend? Bashful and scarlet red in her face, blinking nervously, she positioned herself next to Harry and took his hand for a short moment to encourage him.

"I will be back in one hour. Then you will leave and I'll stay with Tom until ….". Harry withdrew his hand. He had winced as she had said "Tom". What was he bound to think of her now? If she only knew what to think of herself. But there was neither time nor place for such consideration, so she hurried to ask her friend for the unavoidable. "Will you please remember to pick me up in front of the hospital tomorrow morning at eleven o'clock." Harry nodded, still confused, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Slowly he took a step towards his arch-foe who had put up two hospital chairs facing each other. He had already positioned himself on one chair and invited Harry with a gesture to take his seat on the other chair. The younger one did as requested but, with distinct suspicion, moved some inches away from the older man. With apprehension both of them glanced at Hermione who, not even for the sake of her life, could not think of anything to ease the situation.

At least, the prisoner's eyes seemed to be clearer now. If he had been put on calmative potions again, they had at least been dispensed in reasonable doses.

But Harry was brilliant, brave but not unfriendly. He slid his hand into the pocket of his jacket and drew out two bottles of butter-beer that he had sneaked into the room. Was he trying to be considerate or cautious? He opened the bottles with a bottle opener instead with his wand, handed his arch-nemesis one of the two bottles and Hermione, with a faint smile on her face, noticed the slightly nauseated look in Voldemort's eyes but he obviously tried to control himself and daringly took a sip.

He hated butter-beer, she knew.

Back stayed solely the two men and one could only hope that Hermione's slowly emerging fear would be unsubstantiated and that no catastrophes would arise during her absence. A tap with the wand and the door opened. She informed the Aurors that the prisoner wanted to get a special "final meal". Therefore she had the assignment to fetch a meal from the nearest Chinese fast-food restaurant. She would probably just do that. She had to kill time, and maybe he would actually eat it when she came back with food.

When Hermione returned an hour later she was carrying a couple of deliciously smelling bags containing fried vegetable, meat, rice and a choice of dips. The guards offered to help her carry the bags but Hermione wanted to enter the room unobserved. Well, now these people knew that the prisoner was not at all lying debilitated on his bed, but what if they discovered Harry in there? Under no circumstances she could let this happen, she had to enter by herself. Exactly as she had in the beginning. Each step was tough and agonizing,

Voldemort was sitting in his chair, slumped down to the front, bent over his knees, holding a bottle of butter-beer in one and a cigarette in the other hand.

He completely ignored Harry when the boy went, neither did Harry turn back. He got up, put the invisibility cloak over his head and slid past Hermione, through the door without making a noise.

The door closed past Hermione and they were on their own again. Most likely for the last time.

Hermione smiled, she would have loved to ask him what he had discussed with Harry, but he would not answer. She noticed that and she did not want to force an answer out of him now. For a short while she stood next to Voldemort's chair while her little hand patted lovingly over his back.

"Since when you're are you smoking?" she asked as she sat herself down on the chair, where Harry had sat just a moment ago.

"Since now. One of the Aurors gave it to me at lunchtime. I wanted to try this, too." Voldemort rose his head, blew grey, curling clouds of smoke into the air and tapped some of the ashes onto the floor. I have never smoked before. I also could find no pleasure in alcohol. After all, if you _are_ immortal, you should spend eternity as healthy as possible, right?" he asked with a troubled smile. "But I don't like it either", he added with a disappointed look onto the cigarette. Nevertheless, he continued smoking. Once he had set his mind to something, he would not abandon it fast. That was him, after all.

"But that Muggle food you brought along", he lifted his head and inhaled the smell of roast escaping from the bag that Hermione had put on the bed, "it is surprisingly delicious." I would not have expected this."

Broodingly, he took another drag from the cigarette, clouding both of them in smoke, despite his increasingly disgusted look and his urge to cough with each drag he took. It was not before he had stopped coughing that he was able to resume the conversation, but he sounded so bitter and grim and at the same time so reflective that it did not seem to be his own voice. "But I have been mistaken so many times before." He finally stubbed out his cigarette, placed the empty butter-beer bottle carelessly on the floor and slid slowly back into his chair.

He avoided Hermione's eyes, staring into the space, and seemed to talk more to himself that to her. "After the hearing I caught a short glimpse of the Malfoys when they left the court room", he cleared his throat and tried to give his voice an indifferent tone, but his taut body belied his words, "I think, it is a good thing that they were set free."

Hermione gasped in surprise but did not want to interrupt because, hearing Voldemort say things like these, seemed to be a dream from which she did not want to wake up before time. "I have put them under quite some pressure. It would not be right to convict them as convinced Death Eaters On their own free will, much of what they did would never have happened. To confirm his doubts he slowly shook his head, deeply in thoughts.

Then he turned to Hermione again, but his voice sounded stronger now, more certain, and while a mere second ago, he had been hesitant as to whether he could afford to voice thoughts so alien to him, he now seemed to be determined to make further confessions. "Since the commencement of the hearing–no actually since you have told me of the nurse, I have had time to think quite a bit. His long, bony forefinger touched his forehead and his voice died down to a whisper, as if he wanted to let Hermione in on a secret. I awakened to something, I am now able to see many things in a different way.

Hermione was at a complete loss for words–the Dark Lord admitted errors and doubts? "How has this happened? What have you been thinking about?"

"Well", Voldemort threw her a quick glance, then pushed himself up from the chair, with both hands pressed on the backrest, walked over to the barred window where the mood-flower emitted silvery pulsating light. "So many cases of my – well, let's say…victims – were specified. Persons and occurrences were listed, and the way I have killed them was discussed. Many people were mentioned whose deaths I had ordered by using others … they also brought up examples that I have made of Muggles. However, I must confess, I can hardly remember any of them. Some remained in my memory, such as the Potters–of course–but this was only because they gained post-mortem fame because Harry Potter survived. Had Harry Potter not been so famous, I most probably would also have forgotten his parents' death.

Wistfully, he let his fingers slide over the plant whose petals were glowing like stars, but then abruptly turned round, leaned his back against the wall, crossed his arms, as if it was for his own protection, and firmly looked into Hermione's eyes. "It isn't that I am forgetful. But they are simply too many to remember." Saying these words he swayed his head, then resumed talking, almost echo-like–to himself: "So many. And I do not know who they were, I also do not know if I knew them before, or if it was of any importance to kill them. I did it anyway."

The young Gryffindor felt uneasy, these thoughts were so novel for him–and now she was sitting here and it seemed almost offensive to hear these words from his mouth, since they had an absolutely intimate tune. His words were not cynical–no, they were honest–he revealed things to Hermione that he, himself, could hardly believe thinking.

With a faint push he pressed himself away from the cold, grey wall, went to the chair, scuffling rather than pacing, and let himself slide down.

Hermione watched it all while she tried to offer him a kind look– friendly and alert. He would tell more.

"Sometimes I am hearing voices and seeing faces, you know?" His voice sounded brittle, fragile and empty. Each sound escaping his mouth, left the impression that he was no longer part of this world. His voice had already gone. Maybe even other parts, too, and tomorrow the rest of him would go as well.

"Voices?"

"Yes, voices." No figments of imagination. I am trying to recall the dead, but I am not able to do so. I remember some voices and faces, but I can hardly make a connection to the incidents. But", in an almost conjuring manner he raised one hand towards Hermione, his voice pleading as if he hoped Hermione would be able to give him an answer to his life, "if I cannot remember them, though, how could it have been of importance to kill them? If I was able to forget these things so quickly, then it must have been insignificant or useless, wouldn't it. Don't you think so?"

"Can killing people be right at all? Is there one single significant reason to extinguish another's life?" Hermione was stunned at this conversation but it was a relief and it was good to see doubts catching him. As unpleasant circumstances were–it filled her with delight that he was able to think thoughts such as these.

Voldemort's skin had always been ashen, but now he looked almost transparent. Never, she had seen him so unsure of himself while he remembered his deeds; he seemed to become lesser and lesser. Maybe, Hermione thought, all the loathing and cruelty were the very thing that tied him to this world and now his doubts did loosen these ties. More and more he kept disappearing from his own life.

"Of course, I also remember quite a few who died by my own hands or orders. For instance Dumbledore or Snape. Their deaths were not decided at random but were deliberately planned. But, surely, there were many cases that other people at other times would have decided differently." Again, he was swaying his head in disbelief, as if he bewildered of himself, as if he could no longer understand his own motives. "But, again and again, I ended up with this solution as the only solution. I never came across a different answer. It all was so final, so simple… but maybe I just was so used to it that my mind was closed to other ways and solutions.

Voldemort sighed, he appeared to be so aggrieved–these words did not seem to match with him. He bent his head, looking down on his hands, pressing them so violently in his tension that every once and a while his wrist joints gave a snapping sound. "But of course, I had my reasons, I had my plans. It was all about power." For one short moment he looked at Hermione again with this agonized smile–he seemed to think of all his sermons on his philosophy of power, which he had not long ago and full of pride and fervour, defended against Hermione's arguments. "But power is a cunning thing, you always could have more of it", he explained in a low voice, while he thoughtfully lowered his glance again, "and since you always could have more of it, you never reach the goal. The same applies to the quest of immortality. Unreachable by its very nature. The only way you can be sure to have reached immortality is, when you live forever. During this eternal life, however, you are daily exposed to the fear to lose it. I haven't found any happiness; my life was controlled by unreachable aspirations. I could have done all these other things, those I never had time for. Now it is too late."

Hermione's chair made a screeching noise on the floor when she moved it closer to him. The slumped figure, however, did not notice the shrill, unpleasant screeching of the chair. Only when she had come so near that their knees touched and as she closed her hand around his, he looked up to her again. He had to gulp, and for one short moment he appeared to be not only unsure of himself but also even fearful. Apparently Hermione had interrupted his terrifying train of thoughts.

To her surprise his voice was impassive and clear. He seemed to have faced his worst-case scenario and acknowledged that there was no escape for him.

"I think the place where I will be tomorrow will have entire areas that were populated exclusively by myself. Countless … maybe entire countries that were populated as a result of my deeds. So many", again he shook his head in disbelief, "so incredibly many. I am unable count them, nobody would." He lowered his gaze onto his had, that was being held by Hermione, and smiled at this view. His thumb touched over Hermione's finger, tenderly, his thumb slid along her hand, back and forth, forth and back, until he forced himself to detach, to sink back into his chair, breathing heavily. His hands folded on the lap, he attentively eyed Hermione for some moments, and seemed to wait for a reaction. "What will it be like, when I will be among them tomorrow? They will hate me, won't they?"

Defiantly he held up his chin, his soliciting look met her brown eyes and he seemed to be eager to get a statement out of her.

Hermione pressed herself to a rather mismatched smile and shrugged, in this very moment she was simply lacking words, it was too unreal to hear this man verbalize thoughts like these. Instead, she bent down forward again to pat his folded hands.

He stared into the space again, seemed to gaze at a certain point beyond one of the windows. His hands had been so cold, he seemed to vanish ever more and his voice was unusually low, sorrowful and saddened.

"I would hate myself. I was not a good person, I think." His face twisted in agony at these thoughts, he bit his lower lip and allowed Hermione pat his knee that touched on her's.

"It this remorse?" Hermione asked vigilantly.

Voldemort shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe". These thoughts were obviously new to him, he could hardly understand them.

"I am glad that you are able to think this way." Hermione did not sound so miserable any longer, on the contrary, she sounded relieved, since she was truly happy that her vis-à-vis felt remorse. She would have been happy that her hopes had not been in vain during all this time, had the circumstances not have been excessively sad.

Her fosterling bent forwards to hide his face in his hands. Some tears were rolling down his cheeks and he did not want Hermione see it. "What shall I tell them?", his formerly icy voice whimpered, in a desperate effort to sound a bit more unruffled. "What shall I tell all those people when they ask me why I killed them? When I'll be among them tomorrow and they ask me, why." He had to pause, could not continue, because this would have allowed her to witness his sobbing. His face still hidden, he continued to push Hermione for answers "When Wormtail, Bellatrix, Severus, and all the other Death Eaters will ask why I did not simply leave them alone. Why they had to die for me, why I did not prevent it, after they had been serving me for so many years?"

The picture that presented itself to Hermione, made her eyes water. This creature in front of her was shaking, his hands clutching onto his own skull, sobbing so violently that Hermione's heart was bleeding. She sank to her knees in front of her friend, embraced his face with her hands and tenderly pushed him into a hug. But he still could not remove his hands from his eyes, did not want to reveal his sad face.

Hermione tenderly caressed her friend's back while he continued to whimper ever so miserably. "And all the other people? They will walk up to me tomorrow and ask what ever they had done to me? When they will ask, why I had loathed them so much." Yielded anew to despair and guilt, he had to stop. Through his hands he Hermione was able so catch a glimpse of his wrenched face that seemed to reflect thousands of years full of pain and sorrow. Her hands stroke over his head that now was resting against her shoulder. Then he finally dared to look at her. His hands, wet of tears, released his face and wandered to her cheeks. He lifted her face up close to his own, so that both their foreheads touched and he caressed her cheeks. Then pressed her some inches away from his body and emerged deep into her eyes while he continued – so desolate and disheartened as she had never heard a human being before. "I do not know. I, myself, do not know why I never cared and why I never felt the tiniest bit of sympathy for them. What shall I tell them, Hermione, what shall I tell?"

It was the young girl who now had to take a deep breath when she tried to sooth the crying man. "You could say that you are sorry", she suggested in a low voice while her little fingers wiped his eyes. The man was somewhat more composed now, though his face was red and blotted. His voice had stopped trembling but now was hushed and small like that of a child that is horrified in the dark. "Do you believe they will listen to me?"

The kneeling figure ran her hands over his cheeks again, tried a little smile and gave an encouraging nod. "If it comes from your heart, yes, I do believe so."

The unhappy man sitting on the chair concealed his face again in his large white hands, wanted to hide his face while he was saying what he was not even able to admit to himself, and what he had to prize out in of himself in an effort. "I am so ashamed. You know, I might actually meet my mother there. But she will probably reject me. I am so ashamed when I imagine myself standing in front of her, how she is looking at me knowing all the things that I have done.

With his eyes still down, he got up, wiped his eyes and went to the window at the wall where the aroma bowls were positioned that he loathed so much. On his way to the window he took something from his bed that looked like a handkerchief. In an extremely awkward manner, he tried to blow his nose. Still an effort that seemed nearly unmanageable due to the nose that he had mutilated himself. But perhaps it was helpful that simple things like these took him such a long time, since thereafter he was able to continue with more countenance. "People say that Dumbledore was the only person I ever feared", again he turned to her, looked into her eyes again, "but as a matter of fact, they are ignorant of the why. "It is not that I feared his skills. We are, I mean _were_, equals, I believe. But he knew me… he knew me when I was young and weak, and I never wanted to be this way. He symbolized everything that was weak and human in me, that is what I feared. And some day, I guess, I must have managed it – and I ceased to be a human being. And then – with an expression of sheer disgust in his eyes he pointed to his own chest, " I became THIS".

Affectionately Hermione looked at her desperate friend. "Do you know what I think?"

He raised his eyebrows, obviously deeply embarrassed by his own frankness and weakness. These were things he always had avoided. Openness and weakness. But although, in this very moment, he was but a mere mass of human misery, he still sought her eyes. Soothing it was, that she still stayed with him and had not abandoned him, no matter what. He would listen to her, it would help.

"I believe, Dumbledore told a load of rubbish about you. That you are completely unable to love and incapable of doing any good. And, besides", she now rose and walked up to him, as he should see her eyes clearly, should be able to read them, since she did not lie to him, "I believe, it will be a huge comfort for people to know that you are honestly remorseful. And your mother will surely still be glad to finally be able to see you. And not everybody hates you, I DO NOT hate you, and you know that."

Voldemort smiled about Hermione's soothing words. He was not sneering, as he often was, he was grateful. Slowly he ran the back of his hand over her forehead and kissed the spot where his hand had just touched her.

"You have always been very kind to me, Hermione. Much nicer than I have ever been to anyone. Thank you." With both arms he pulled her closer to his body and embraced her. Hermione gasped. Never before he had called her Hermione, he had always acted as if he had not even known her name.

But this intimacy still seemed to make him feel uneasy. He moved her a few inches from his body, turned his back to her in embarrassment and sat down on the hospital bed that had become so familiar to him and that he still hated so much. Hermione did not want to leave him sit by himself on this symbol of defeat; therefore, she followed and sat down next to him.

"Do you have a last wish?", she had to swallow hard. He bent his head to the side, in the manner of a child, his eyes half-closed, and he seemed to meditate intensely. He then nodded and turned around to Hermione. But you won't be able to fulfil it."

Hermione blushed. No matter what he was going to say, she would grant it. For one reason: she did not want to let him go so unhappily.

"I would do anything you wish. "ANYTHING!" To affirm this, she ran her fingers with slight pressure along his thighs.  
Voldemort seemed to be bewildered in the first instant, he did not seem to get the point, but then his fingers shot ahead to pin Hermione's hand in the place where it was – not at its target yet, but close.

Hermione smiled, now he did understand. She would grant everything… but he did not let her hand go, did not let it wander further up, instead he looked firmly into her eyes and seemed to fight an inner battle. Of course, he wanted to, so many times he had made it clear that he was longing for the very thing she offered him now… but still….

After a seemingly endless time in this frozen pose, he bent slightly forward and slowly moved her hand away from his body. "No, don't", he spoke tenderly, as she had hardly ever heard him speak before, and still, he shook his head with determination, "you don't need to do this. You don't really want it. And, apart from that, I thought of something else".

With a slight sense of disappointment Hermione withdrew her hand. "What is it?"

Tom Riddle took a deep breath and smiled, seemingly to himself, in an unhappy and desperate way, "I have always been out in nature on my own. There, I was able to think about things… I would like to take a walk outside in the dark and reflect on things."

Hermione's mouth twitched unhappily. "No", she now shook her head equally unhappy, "I am afraid, this is not possible, you know that". He nodded, he had known it but nevertheless gave an unhappy impression. "It is obviously impossible. There is so much I will never be able to do again."

Hermione could not bear it any longer to see him so disconnected from her – on this last evening he was supposed to be here, together with her, and not some place else, together with his dark thoughts. Slowly, she put her arm around him, drew his face down to hers and they kissed.

Not only to give him nicer thoughts but also so obtain something from him, something that she could keep.

Hermione moved still closer, sank into two pallid arms and let them place her on the bed. In the dark of the night, in this murky room, only lit by the silvery moonlight that fell in from the side, drawing tiny lines and shadows on the wall, two people could be made out who were undressing each other and cuddled up together. The taller of the two figures lay on his back and ran his fingers tenderly over the smaller one who had huddled up close to him. They exchanged tender kisses and touches while words of comfort and love were exchanged in hushed voices, until the taller shape let his body glide over the smaller one and covered her.

Hermione and her child, prisoner, teacher…lover. Even though she would never confess to Ron what she had done with the Dark Lord during this night. The master of Legilimency had been wrong in this particular case, Hermione had wanted to do it.

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**Next chapter could take some time. But then you´ll know if Voldemort will die and what about he´d been talking with Harry**

***kissyouallandwipeyoudry***


	23. Hospital Soap

**First of all: I AM SO SORRY YOU HAD TO WAIT FOR SUCH A LONG TIME!**

**I woman I know offered me to translate this chapter. But she had a lot to do, was/is ill and so on… now I decided to translate it myself. SORRY for my poor English. I ´ll upload a betad version as soon as possible. But I think you had to wait long enough… so here's chapter 23.**

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**Brezel: **Hi, thanx for the review. Well, I read something in book 7. Better said, "Hermione" read that "healing" a soul would cause unbearable pain. So… this was the idea behind.

**Liv: **No you know what Harry und Voldy have been talking about. Surprised?

**Luth:** Thanx for the Review und SORRY for updating so slowly

**Sabriel:** Hi, well… I have to admit. Not all chapters are betaed. But I HOPE more chapters will be betaed soon.

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**Chapter 23: Hospital-soap**

The morning came, was dark and dull, yet it didn't rain. It was already 10.p.m, as they woke up. Somehow Hermione should have been upset, only one hour to go, till they would come for him. But on the other hand, what else was left to do? Everything was said, everything was done.

So she got dressed, sat herself on the bed and watched him mutely as he washed himself and got dressed, too.

Hermione didn't want to wash herself. Not yet. Not, as long she noticed his smell on her. Smelled his skin on her hands, as she held them to her nose. She wanted to keep this smell, him, as long as possible. At least, until the evening.

They gave him proper clothes, as the trial started. A black robe, probably the one he wore as he was admitted to the hospital. Now he got it back. She still had two bottles of pumpkin-juice in her bag. They drank it, then the clock at the wall showed eleven p.m. and the door opened.

Still the same Aurors like yesterday. Fine, so they didn't have to explain to them why Hermione was with him.

„We have to go. " Eight Aurors. All of them held the wand at the ready, but they didn't look as if they liked to fight and, actually, Voldemort didn't look that way, either. He simpley stood there, mute, with a bottle of pumpkin juice in his hand and nodded to them.

Hermione stood up, took the bottle away from him and placed it on the trolley. Their eyes met, now it was time to say good-bye to each other.

They got hesitatingly closer, till she heard him breathing. But of course, he breathed rather loud, at all. Holding her head up straight, she could see his Adam's apple slipping up and down, nervously. Saw bluish veins, one couldn't see them a step back, shimmering through his marble-like white skin. She was so close to him, she sensed the warmth of his body.

A smell of hospital-soap urged into her noise… she would remember this. Because he'd washed himself a few minutes ago, he still smelled of hospital-soap. She bent herself a bit forward, pressed her nose into the curve of his neck and suck this smell deep into her, to safe this memory. She was barley aware of his the two hands which stroke her upper-arms. She also didn't hear the tensed swallowing inside his throat, which her forehead leaned on.

So much is forgettable. Words, doings, incidents… so much fades away, when time goes by. But not the things she was aware of right now, not the impressions she saved inside her, at this very moment. The warmth of his body, the cool, smooth stuff of his robe and the smell of hospital-soap, only half-way overlaid by his own, pleasing smell.

These things would never leave her. Even in fifty years she would think of him, if smelled hospital-soap. Would be thrown within seconds back to this moment.

She felt the touch of his hand, as he stroke his long fingers along her cheek. His hand was still warm, although the room was cold. Still warm, smelling of soap, soon this would be gone.

Hermione swallowed, tried to stay in the here and now. Her own hand touched his and pressed it. His hands sweated, trembled. He was upset and scared.

First it was just a warm breeze, getting closer to her forehead, then she felt his breath as he bent over her his kissed her temple with dry lips, tenderly.

Hermione felt like screaming, tears came into her eyes, yet she couldn't cry. She didn´t want to, because she didn´t want to make him feel worry about her. He was already scared, so much, she felt it. „I'm going now, thank you", was all, he said to her.

Hermione nodded and tried to swallow the thicker getting lump in her throat down, but didn't achieve to do it. Still she held his hand. Slowly she raised her head and tried to keep and safe every detail she saw sucked every inch of his body in into her, because she would never see him again.

Her fingers caressed his cheek for a good-bye. She worked on a smile, which was answered, although they both weren't cheerful.

„Don't be afraid", she whispered comforting, because she knew how afraid he really was and she couldn't help in any other way, "don't be afraid. Everything is going to be well. If you allow it, you'll do better than last time. It won't take long, it won't hurt and then you'll be", she swallowed and leaned her forehead against his chest, "somewhere else and you'll be feeling fine. Where you'll think of me, won't you?" Hermione bit herself on her lips to stop an upraising moan inside her. "Till we see us again. Yes?"

His breath puffed against her face because he'd laughed, so she could smell the pumpkin-juice he drank. He didn't laugh at her, was all calm and nodded. "All right, but you'll have to think of me too. Till we meet again. Remember not only of the bad things, will you?"

Two arms were wrapped around her, like a wonderful soft, warm coat, pulled her closer and hold her tight for a moment. Two lips whispered silent word of good-bye into her ear, as his breath stroke over her ear.

Hermione pressed her head as close as possible to him, huddled against his chest, her arms closed around him and her fingers clawed into his robe in order to keep what they were holding now.

But oh so fast, yet slowly at the same, he was pulled away from her by the Aurors, so she had to let go. She wouldn't have done it voluntary, but this was the way things had do go.

The Aurors didn't seem to be happy about their task. Just did their job… coming for someone who they had to kill wasn't fun to them. Wasn't used to them, either.

She could read it in their faces and it offered a small comfort to her to know, what they would treat him fair, when the time was come. They would allow him to go, they wouldn't push him through the archway.

He was already a few steps away from her, but Hermione still stood as motionless as before, right on her spot and watched him go. And then, he nodded, turned around, the Aurors handcuffed his wrists behind his back to guide him out… and Tom Riddle was gone.

Hermione didn't dare moving for maybe about five minutes. She also did not want to move because if she'd gone to the door, she might have heard the noise of his shoes, walking over the stone-floor. Maybe she'd even seen his robe, flying behind him. If that had happened, nothing could have held her back, then she'd run after him in order to hug him and nothing in the whole world could have ever make her letting go.

But this wasn't the case and so no question about letting go or not, anymore. Sometime she managed to move again. She remembered the hospital-wand in her hands. Remembered, that she still had to pull off the bedspread and to clean up the room, before she was allowed to go. Beds, she would never have to make again. It felt so strange to touch the sheets. She buried her face in the sheets and took a smell at them. Only an imagination, or could she really still feel the warmth of his body, as her cheeks sensed the stuff?

She drew a bag from the trolley and started letting float leftovers, newspaper articles, tissues, as well as all the other little things which were left from Tom, into it.

The mood-flower ended up in the bag as well. Nice invention, pretty to watch, but right now she hated this flower. Bloody true, as true like her also hating the aroma bowls, he loathed so much. Everything in and about this room, everything should end up on the thrash because she never wanted to see it, at all.

And she hated him, as well. Damn right. From the bottom of my heart. How could he do this to her? Getting so close to her and then, turning around in order t o leave her, just like that? If he'd been with her, Hermione would have surely beaten him up… and took him with her… home. There she'd go on hating him for the rest of her live, because then he would have stayed with her.

No, Hermione didn't want to cry. She wanted to be mad. Mad at everyone. The bag became a punching bag. Fraught with overwhelming anger she stamped everything in there into pieces. Jerked the bag on the bed and battered it over and over again. This was so unfair. Everyone were so ungrateful… all people. They were so damn stupid, unfair but first of all, ungrateful.

Couldn't anyone say "thank you" to her?

That they'd lain into her young hands in early may was barley more than what Harry´d seen in his Kings Cross vision. A physical and mental wreck. Hermione didn't only risk her job, her further carrier, her friendships, but also money, free time and her own mental health in the end, in order to make something what could called a human being again.

And was that the thanks she got?

Filled with anger, she threw the pumpkin-juice bottles against the wall, just to fix them thereafter so she could bang them again at the wall.

Those people had taken him away from her. Just like this. ABDUCTION! Damn right. The pumpkin-juice bottles were followed by the both empty butter beer bottles, which still stood beside the bed on the floor. Where he and Harry had been sitting, last night.

Hermione hated Shackelbolt, Hopkirk but first of all the Aurors, who came into the room this morning.

But most of all, Hermione hated herself… because she'd let him go as the Aurors took him with them. Because she'd promised to take care of him, but failed at the end because she'd been too weak. Because she´d allowed the abductors to tear him out of her arms.

She'd let him die. Had failed.

If she'd only get mad enough, no matter at whom, then she would accomplish not crying. She would never grant this triumph to that vermin. Helen, this lunatic who hated him so much and Claris, the harpy…the both of them, who now probably stood upstairs, already champagne glasses in their hands.

Hermione's eyes wandered to the clock above the bed. She had to be done, her friends were surley waiting for her. A quarter past eleven.

Hermione was appalled as she saw the door open. Why wasn't it closed? She'd almost run through the door to close it, but then it occurred to her. Oh right, what had to be parted from the rest the world was already taken away.

She could go. All was done, yet she walked over to his bed. Sat down at first, but then her whole body sunk down at the mattress. Still she had no tears, not even as she stroke the yellow-grey chequered hospital-mattress for a last time where he would never lie again, because he would never be anywhere again, at all.

Hermione got up, took the list from the trolley and did her check. Everything she had to bring back was collected. Her stomach cramped, she felt sick and nearly had to vomit, as she had to take the trolley back to the place, she got it at her first day. Hermione turned around as she went out and shouted: "See you, I…" her voice died. What did she do? Nonsense, nobody was here to whom she had to say good-bye.

Before she could think about this any further, she hurried out. Stifling inside here. Terrible fuggy, she had struggle for breath, needed fresh air in order to be able to breathe again. For a short moment, everything went black, she staggered but managed to support herself on the trolley, to rescue herself from fainting.

THERE! She'd seen something from the corner of her eyes. Her head jerked around. There was… no. Just imagined. Of course, she'd just imagined to see a body standing beside the window. Nobody stood there, no one, at all. Hermione was alone upstairs, all alone.

Why such a silence in the corridors? Why was she alone? Why weren't the Aurors here? Oh right, she remembered, because they´d already come for him.

Like being in a trance, she walked through this corridor, he went through just a short time ago. She knew they'd lead him through the cellar to the next chimney, to bring him to the ministry. To the death-chamber… Yet, she hoped to catch a sight on him as she walked upstairs. No, he was away. Only forty minutes to go till his execution.

Without a word of good-bye or an explanation, Hermione brought the hospital-wand to Claris, thanks Merlin, empty bureau. Where it would **dissolve into dust**, in the end of the week. Useless, not needed anymore.

She wouldn't look around. Actually she had to put her cloak away, but she didn't want to do it. She put it off and let it drop down to the floor. Her last report, she had to deliver (the very thought "the last" was worse enough), she would owl it in a few days. But now she only wanted to leave and she NEVER EVER wanted to set a single step into this building again.

She saw Claris and Helen standing together, as she left. Deep in a conversation, looking unsettled. They became quiet, as they saw Hermione und nodded good-bye. Hermione didn't answer the nod, wasn't able to do this. Maybe they would meet again someday. If this would happen, they could talk… but not today.

Ron, Harry and Ginny were standing outside, oh how merciless predictable this was, already waiting for her.

Without a word, the four of them, set off through the town. Ron laid his arm protectively around her shoulders. He didn't understand her, but he felt sympathy for the way she felt right now. Maybe he had a vague premonition of what had been going on, but he was tactful enough to keep quiet. For the moment, this was enough. Actually, more as she'd hoped to get. Harry and Ginny didn't say anything, as well. Here friends were with her and this was more important, than well meant words or empty comfort tries. Harry appeared withdrawn. Didn't say much, since he'd talked with Tom. Was still deep in thoughts… They should talk about so many things, but, first she had to understand it for herself. But seeing Harry like this, pensively, not triumphant, made it more bearable for her.

Tonight, Hermione blew her nose, because tonight all would be over, tonight she would ask Harry what they'd been talking about last night.

Harry und Ginny invited them to the Grimmauldplace tonight, so they went into a muggle-store to buy several things for supper. Harry had enough money with him, so everyone was allowed to take what they liked. A bell rang at twelve o'clock, as they stood at the **supermarket checkout**. Some child had a singing watch, programmed to ring at high noon. Involuntary Hermione looked at the child, at his arm, at the watch…and between all the people around her, packed with noodles, cheese and sausage, Hermione started to cry.

Xxx

10 p.m… Finally they decided to come to the burrow. After Hermione had calmed down, all she wanted was to leave her room in the Leaky Cauldron as soon as possible. Didn't want to stay a single second longer than necessary in London. The others agreed and so they apparated to the burrow, where the inconsolably threw herself into the arms of her parents. First they sat together in the Weasley`s living room, while the Weasleys did as if they would have to do something else, then she went upstairs and locked herself in the bathroom for the rest of the afternoon. Sometime in the early evening she came down with eyes cried red, back to her friends who didn't understand her, but at the same, didn't leave her.

The four friends sat again outside in the garden and watched the gnomes, just the way they did it last time, the day before Hermione's first day in the hospital.

„What have you been talking about last night? " Hermione couldn't help from asking what she needed to know. Harry squirmed a bit unsettled on the bank, cleared his throat and as he spoke, he didn't sound like an eighteen year old boy, rather than an eighty year old man.

„About many things, I've ask him about my past. About my parents, why he'd chosen me, of all people. If there had been any other persons who'd betrayed my parents and if he'd nether doubted about killing me. I also asked him about Dumbledore. I think he sort of adored him. Well, and he told me how my parents died…" He took a sip from his pumpkin-juice, to pause a bit. Ginny rested her head on her boyfriend's shoulder, to convey a little comfort.

„He answered me all my questions in detail, stuck to the facts and kept calm. Was okay, this way." He paused again for a moment, glancing at his shoes down on the ground, then raised his head again and faced Hermione. "We also spoke about the years after his return. We've seen a lot of same things, from different point of views. I think this was interesting for both of us, the other perspective…" Another break and they watched the gnomes playing hide-and-seek. Somehow they looked like ugly potato with worm-legs. Or brown balls, rolling around through the garden, but with the small difference that real balls wouldn't raid the Weasleys vegetable garden.

„He'd asked me about several things, too. He wanted to know, what I and Dumbledore have learned about his past. He asked about his relatives, particularly about his mother. He wanted to hear a lot about her… And, well, about the world in between, you know, as they fell during the battle. He liked to hear what I had seen."

Hermione sighed. Ron stroke over her back and in the following silence, they all thought back to the time when they were hunting him.

„And he asked me about Sirius."

"What?"

Harry blushed a bit and lowered his eyes, as he spoke on with a soundless voice. "Did you forget? Sirius also fell trough the archway. He asked if I'd believe that Sirius was in pain as he died. I said "no". Sirius appeared all calm and peaceful. I think he liked that, he was calmer, after he heard that."

Hermione blew her nose again. No matter if anyone would understand her sorrow, no matter how irrational her grief was… her friends were surely the best friends in the whole world, because they were with her didn't reproach her.

"But he'd told me something else before I left", Harry added as pensively, as if he were a very old man of 150 years, resuming on the essence of his past life. "He asked as to be nice to Hermione" Harry sat, patted her knee and went on revealing "… and he said we should try to be special or let ourselves get possessed from useless things. Dumbledore and he were special people, but it made them just being unhappy. "

Hermione thought back to all the things he´d told her and how much he'd changed. Did she forget anything important to tell him? But probably words weren't so important, at all. The both of them knew, what they'd felt for each other and this was more important than any conversation they could have held.

Actually, she was sure, he wouldn't be this skinned, moaning something, Harry had seen in Kings Cross. He'd become something more. Not longer soulless he was allowed to move on.

Hermione rummaged around in her trouser pocket and fished the small slip out; she'd got with a ministry-owl two hours ago. A message from Ben. Maybe she would throw it away later in, but now she had to read it to make herself belief that it was true.

„Today, October, 8, 1998, Tom Marvolo Riddle was executed on high noon, London local time. According to the execution-way, he died immediately."

Again the tears run down her face.

She'd let him go.

She´d failed.


End file.
